Out of Chaos
by ajax.the.axe.murderess
Summary: Draco and Hermione; Gryffindor and Slytherin; Head Boy and Head Girl; Enemies, Reluctant Couple, Friends, and then Partners in saving the wizarding world? Yes, unlikely... but not impossible... Post HBP, but not totally compatible- please just go with it
1. Chapter I: Summer Doldrums

**Out of Chaos**

Disclaimer: I own absolutely NOTHING in the Harry Potter world. It all belongs to the lucky and imaginative JK Rowling: Kudos to her. Please don't sue me.

A/N: So, this is my third fic, and I really just wanted to do something that interested me. My previous fics have been things that initially seemed like good ideas, but quickly ran out of steam… so I plan to write a lot over the summer, and hopefully get a good response… and if not, well then this will be a good developmental experience for me…at any rate, this fic is set in Harry, Ron and Hermione's Seventh year at Hogwarts. Voldemort is undefeated, and the war wages on. Dumbledore is dead, Draco Malfoy hasn't been imprisoned or anything for his role in Dumbledore's death, and Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Draco and the rest of the Hogwarts crew will soon set out for school… where I plan to make some interesting things happen…

I'm kind of experimenting with POVs and voices and things like that… please tell me what you think, and I'll find my rhythm, so to speak…

This WILL be a long fic, so please bear with me—things should get interesting, and I have some major plot twists up my sleeve…

**Chapter I: Summer Doldrums**

Voldemort was undefeated, lurking somewhere, and so the battles continued. Harry knew he should be going after the horcruxes. It was the only way to stop Voldemort. But since Dumbledore's death, he'd been surprisingly unmotivated. Perhaps it was just the summer doldrums, bringing out the lazy teenager in him…

***

Draco Malfoy despised summers.

Firstly (and worstly), they were terrible boring. Narcissa Malfoy buffeted him with a brace of High Teas and other Social Events from the very moment her stepped off the Hogwarts Express in June. He couldn't stand the cloying, artificial sweetness of the pureblood mother hens who sat with Narcissa and clucked over their children, trying their best to sell their daughters off, in hopes of becoming the mother-in-law to Draco Malfoy.

One thing was very clear in Draco's head from the very first of these High Teas; none of these girls would ever be his bride. Firstly, they were positively atrocious to talk to; who cared about the latest robe styles, or what So-and-So had done last week? Often, while nodding sullenly in response to guests' meaningless chatter, he deduced that the loss of even just a few brain cells would reduce these giggling girls to puddles of second-rate, lumpy fondue… And then there was the issue of The Mothers. The girls were clearly devoted to their mothers, but not because they loved them dearly of their own free will… no, they were devoted to their mothers because they had been brainwashed to fill the template their mothers presented to them—in short, they made no decisions on their own; their words were their mothers words; their thoughts were their mothers thoughts. Draco found it disgusting.

Lying on his bed, Draco looked out onto his balcony through crystal-clear glass, his stormy countenance contrasting sharply with the blue, untroubled sky. His mother was so talented at making him feel young again. Once he took his place beside her at the dinner table, he felt as if he once again was a child, and his mother was sitting beside him, discreetly flicking her want to chop his sausages into appropriately sized pieces. Stretching his arms above his head, Draco yawned. These days there really wasn't such a thing as enough sleep. Between the extensive magical theory research his summer tutor and Godfather Severus had assigned him, the intense Quidditch regimen he had laid out for himself, and dodging his father's attempts to lure him to Death Eater meetings, Draco had a full plate for the summer.

***

Hermione Granger knew she should love the summer.

She was at the Burrow, surrounding by laughing, happy, people, who were somehow able to forget the war that was raging around them. But for Hermione, things weren't quite so simple. Firstly, a war WAS going on around them. No use forgetting that. It was a fact. Secondly, she didn't play Quidditch. Yes, she knew it was petty, but honestly, what was a girl supposed to do when her best friends spent most of their waking hours on broomsticks? It's not that she minded being alone all that much; she'd been researching magical theory as simply a subject of personal interest, and, form her point of view, one could never read enough books… But she had to admit, going days without more than mealtime contact with another human being grew to be bothersome, and quite frankly quite depressing.

She had never felt quite so alone before; Crookshanks, her darling cat, spent all his time hunting gnomes in the garden; her friends played Quidditch. And worstly, her parents, who had always been there as her anchor, her solid foundation, were, for all practical purposes, nonexistent. They were in Australia of course, their memories temporarily wiped, living a life that was blissfully ignorant, with no memories of their daughter. Hermione had done if for their protection; she knew they would become Death Eater targets, and she knew that they wouldn't be safe if she had any contact with them whatsoever. But nonetheless, the knowledge that they _weren't_ there to lend her advice left a hole in her arsenal of inner strength.

Sitting at the kitchen table, Hermione watched as a knife expertly sliced potatoes, seemingly of its own volition, on the drainboard. Mrs. Weasley was nowhere in sight, but Hermione knew it was her magic that kept the knife a-chopping. She couldn't focus on her book. Faintly, coming from the field at the top of the hill, she could hear Harry and Ron's voices, mingling together as they shouted. She could picture them, high in the air, throwing their cares to the wind that whistled through their hair, as they played Quidditch with Ginny, Fred, George, Bill and Charlie. Tracing a deep crevice in the wood of the table with her fingernail, Hermione sighed. _Let it be._ She told herself. _You love them, and you love being around them, but you don't need them every waking moment of every day. _

***

Draco:

I must've dozed off. Because there is no way that it's already Four o'clock. Absolutely no way in hell. Well, maybe a teentsie possibility, because the clock does say four. And it's a magical clock. So fine. It's four o'clock. But why does it matter at all whether it's one o'clock, four o'clock or nine o'clock. Oh yeah. The grand High Tea of the week. Yipee…

By the time I get downstairs, the guests of honour are already in attendance. It's Daphne the Doofus Greengrass, and her mother Emmaline the Evil… she has to be the pushiest woman I've ever met… and I will have the delight of sitting next to her at today's tea, according the the namecards set out at the table… Steel yourself, Draco, old boy, for an evening of artificial compliments, delicious appetizers, and no intellectually stimulating conversation _whatsoever_…

"_Finally_, Draco, darling!" my mother intones, her voice perfectly civil, but her eyes flashing in a stern reprimand. "I'm so sorry you weren't here to appreciate Ms. Greengrass's Ermine coat—it was positively divine, and it complimented her complexion so _nicely_!" Mother always points out my perspective brides' assets. And after they leave, she tears them apart like a butcher in a meatmarket, picking apart the littlest details, demonstrating that none are good enough for me, and yet encouraging me to pick from the 'crème of the crop'… I mean, really…. If none of them are good enough, why bother? Clearly I'm destined to remain a bachelor for life—since I haven't met a girl yet that both meets my parents' standards, and is capable of using her brain…

In short, the High Tea is a catastrophe from my point of view, and a success for my Mother. Her darling baby is one High Tea closer to selecting a wife! How wonderful (please note the sarcasm)… There's no fucking way I'm marrying any of these brainless bints. I mean, come on! But she doesn't know that. I don't know how to tell her. How do I dash my only mother's hopes? Things aren't easy for her. I should know that. When you've got Lucius Malfoy for a husband, you have no choice but to divert yourself from your terrible reality by matchmaking for your son. And honestly, I don't want to be the one who breaks it to her; no mommy, I wont marry her. Damn. That's one conversation I'll avoid at all costs. And I'm a Slytherin. I'm slippery. So far, I've been able to talk my way out of making any promises.

***

Hermione:

Really. Honestly. Boys.

Dinner is a delicious affair, even if the conversation is somewhat limited. Truly, the Weasleys could make an effort to talk about SOMETHING besides Quidditch. But who am I to complain? I'm a guest in their cozy home, and it's certainly not my place to dictate the topic of conversation.

But really, I could have a more intellectually stimulating conversation with a doorknob or a teacup than with Ron at this rate. Probably because we're not speaking with one another right now. But it's his fault. He'll have to apologize first. He KNOWS I'm not ready to talk about our future yet. Every time I think about the future, I wonder if we'll even be alive. So I'm not even slightly ready to start planning a family. But I guess, to be completely honest, it goes deeper than that. It's not that I don't want a family, it's that I want other things more than a family.

I'm not going to lie. I know I've got a bright future ahead of me. And hypothetically, if we survive this nightmarish war, I don't see myself settling down and popping out babies like Ron seems to think is a good idea… I mean, professionally, it would be a huge setback. Yes, I want a fulfilling relationship, but ye gods! I'm seventeen—I'm certainly not ready to be a mother yet, and Ron is sure as hell not ready to be a father. And honestly, I'm not entirely sure that Ron _is_ my soulmate. And I won't settle for anything less than a soulmate. Logically, what kind of soulmate engages you in an average of under four meaningful conversations a day? (and yes, I've been counting)… What kind of soulmate doesn't even ask you about your plans for the future, but transplants his own dreams to you, forcing them down your throat? What kind of soulmate eats like a pig after you've politely corrected his table hygiene millions of times? Oh well… what will be will be…

" 'ermione…Path twa pwatatwath," Ron slurs, his mouth full of juicy stew. It's only thanks to years as his best friend that I can understand his mid-meal demands, but I cock my head as if I don't understand him. Gulping down a mouthfully of pumpkin juice, he swallows thickly, trying desperately to clear his mouth. He really wants those potatoes.

" 'Mione, the potatoes, please!" Says Ginny, coming to his rescue. She's alternately one of my favorite and least favorite people; a great 'sleepover buddy' to offer romantic insight, she's unfortunately completely blind to her brothers faults, so any frustrations I have with him just drive a wedge between us…

Dinner finishes uneventfully, and I end up directing the cleanup, since I've nothing better to do. Flicking my wand expertly, I revel in the efficiency of the kitchen under my magical direction. Shouts break my concentration.

"HOGWARTS LETTERS, HOGWARTS LETTERS!" Shouts Ron, like an excited six year-old. Jerking nervously, I accidentally let one dish slip, and it topples to the ground in a sudsy mess. I'm too excited to care. Now I'll finally find out, after months of waiting…

A/N: Go on and review. Nothing bugs me more than to be getting favorited and subscribed to, but not reviews… just a little note, negative or positive, is all it takes to keep me going


	2. Chapter II: The Long and Winding Road

**Out of Chaos**

Disclaimer: I own absolutely NOTHING in the Harry Potter world. It all belongs to the lucky and imaginative JK Rowling: Kudos to her. Please don't sue me.

A/N: This chapter is written in third person, unlike the last chapter… it will be a little more fast-moving, but will also have our first Dramione interaction (nothing really romantic, though…) yay! Also, please note that in this chapter I've invented a few ideas about magic… I will continue to do this throughout the fic, so please just go with it… =]

**Chapter II: The Long and Winding Road… to Hogwarts**

Life goes on. It's an inevitable fact. And no matter how dreary Hermione's summer seemed, it continued to pass, even if, at times, time seemed to be oozing along at a snail's pace.

Hermione could not wait for school to start. She had finally reached her short-term goal; she had received official notice that she would Hogwarts's Head Girl the next year. Ron was particularly bitter that he hadn't made Head Boy. For some illogical reason, he seemed to blame it on Hermione. She'd actually overheard him muttering to an increasingly unsympathetic Harry about 'her being so bloody smart that they forgot about me'. Hermione didn't bother to point out that Ron hadn't been in the running for Head Girl; he was hoping to make Head _Boy_ and therefore they hadn't been competing against one another, though she supposed in all fairness that it would be unlikely that two Gryffindor Heads would be picked, so perhaps she _had_ decreased his chances…

Ron seemed to be becoming increasingly illogical; Quidditch seemed to be the only way for him to vent his feelings. He'd taken to borrowing Fred and George's beater bats, and had spent hours whacking bludgers at trees near the Burrow to vent his teenage boy, angsty-frustrations, until he'd accidentally splintered one of the support beams on the Burrow's roof, earning a vicious earful from Mrs. Weasley, along with a year's worth of chores to make up for his misdemeanor.

Both Ron's newfound love of beating things, and his increased chore load because of what came to be known as 'Ron's accident', decreased the already small amount of time Hermione spent in Ron's company. Hermione had long since ceased to consider herself Ron's girlfriend in her head, since no aspects of their relationship matched up with what she considered to define as 'dating'.

***

One morning in late July, Arthur Weasley decided it was time to visit Diagon Alley. It couldn't be put off any longer. Despite the obvious dangers of travel in times of war, the 'children' needed their school supplies. After a truly grueling debate, he managed to convince Molly that the children needed to go themselves, and that they did, indeed need their books, potions supplies, and new robes.

"Dear, it's only a day trip. We'll travel by Floo. No one in the family's made a mistake Flooing for years—not since Harry way back in Ron's second year!" Molly pursed her lips. The memory of Harry's brief visit to Knockturn alley still set her on edge.

"Arthur, don't tell me you think you can keep all of them in sight the whole time you're there… you know perfectly well it'll be impossible!" Molly reminded, pursing her lips as Arthur tried to protest. "No fibs, now, dear… just tell me how you're planning to keep them safe." Her voice had a no-nonsense edge to it. Arthur sighed. He could protest no longer. Complete honesty was now necessary.

"They're all of age but Ginny. It's not possible for me to monitor all four of them at once. It's inevitable they'll be out of my sight at one point or another. But I'll get Hagrid to come, and I'll keep an especially close eye on Ginny, and they'll all be fine," he paused, looking lovingly at his wife, complete understanding filling his eyes. "Molly. They're slipping away. You've got to let them go. We've protected them for long enough, now they've got to spread their wings." Seeing the tears in her eyes, he whispered "they'll be fine…"

Mrs. Weasley gathered them all together, reminded them to stay safe, and sent them each off with a paper bag filled with still-warm home cooking. Rubbing the sleep from their eyes, Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny, accompanied by Mr. Weasley and Hagrid made their way to Diagon Alley, via Floo. It was a trip Hermione would never forget.

***

"Where's our Hermione?" Fred and George asked simultaneously when the group entered Weasley's Wizard Wheezes after picking up new robes, books, potion supplies, parchement and quills.

"She went the the bookstore…" explained Ron, his face fixed in a decidedly dejected-looking frown.

"Well…" said Fred

"I guess" continued George

"That's just as well" Fred finished

"After all…" said George

"I hear…" said Fred

"Our Hermione" intoned George dramatically

"Is HEAD GIRL!" They finished together enthusiastically.

"We figured she'd be looking out for any new products she might see from the students…" explained George. "And, while we _were_ prepared to defend our products to our last breaths, it's just as well she didn't come; we can unveil our new collection to you now!" Fred emerged from the brightly colored door that marked their storeroom, wiping the dust from his brilliant red hair. "I present to you….the Detention Detonator plus kit!" Fred showed Ron, Harry and Ginny a drab shoebox-sized box.

"Wait 'til you see what's inside…" said Fred. Ron leaned closer as Fred eased the lid off. "We're still perfecting it… but hopefully it'll be ready to sell in our Hogsmeade location by the early Autumn…"

"Blimey…" Ron whispered, clearly in awe.

***

Meanwhile, Hermione purposefully pushed her way through the throngs of witches and wizards, as she marched towards Flourish and Blotts. She was really quite fed up with the resources she had at the burrow. She needed desperately to investigate further into the theories behind Dark Magic. Her theoretic investigations had thus far revealed nothing that would help them solve the problem of the horcruxes. She knew little about how to destroy them, but clearly there was a way. Beyond that, from an arithmancy expert's point of view, the magical equations behind horcruxes should theoretically be of a give-and-take sort. Every benefit must be balanced by a drawback. And as far as Hermione's logic could tell, hocruxes had two different sorts of benefits and drawbacks; magical benefits and drawbacks, and psychological benefits and drawbacks; in other words, horcruxes had magical aspects, but they also affected a person's inner workings; their very soul. Hermione could work out the soul part of the equations fairly well; the drawback to the soul was obvious; a person had to be a killer, an already irreparably damaged soul in order to make a horcrux. That was one side of the 'soul' equation right there. However, Hermione could not determine a benefit to balance the equation. _How can there be a benefit to tearing your soul in half? _She wondered. _On a psychological level, how can you benefit from losing your humanity? _In terms of the magical equation she had been researching, Hermione had been able to research the strengths provided by a horcrux fairly thoroughly. In theory, horcruxes made their maker stronger, and made a person's Dark Magic even stronger. They obviously also preserved not only a person's soul, but a person's magic. Hermione had the benefit side of the 'magic' equation worked out. However, she wasn't sure what the drawbacks were; in terms of magical theory, she knew there had to be a weakness corresponding to this strength. Her research into magical theory had taught her that. But she had absolutely no clue what said weakness could be. She suspected Dumbledore had known of it, but he was gone and he couldn't share his knowledge without anyone else.

_I need to find a book that will not only help me discover this magical weakness—since knowing any of Voldemort's weaknesses would be unendingly helpful—but I also need to learn more about horcruxes and the theories behind them, so we can destroy them… and it would be helpful to get some books on Dark Magic theory and breaking Dark enchantments, so when we find more horcruxes we can get through the dark enchantments surrounding them and destroy the horcrux itself…Even if Harry and Ron are going to let this year go by without destroying Horcruxes, I'll at least be busy doing research… _ Hermione's mind was busy as she hurried into Flourish and Blots, barely noticing the people around her.

Hurrying to isle Q (labeled 'Magical Theory'), she browsed through the titles looking for anything that looked useful. She was in her happy place. There was knowledge all around her, and she could _feel_ that somewhere in the jungle of books, there lay an answer to her questions. She knew Harry and Ron would think she was crazy, but somehow, sometimes she could just tell whether or not she'd find the right book. When she was younger, her parents had called it her 'bookworm intuition'… thinking about her parents brought a lump to her throat. Quickly searching for a distraction, she began reading titles.

"_Magical Theory in Medieval Days_, nope… _Magical Theory in My Life_, nope… _Magical Theory of the Millenium…_ possibly…" she rifled through the tome, but quickly found it to simply be a biography of recent important thinkers in the field, not really delving into the theory itself. Sighing, she continued. "_Magical Theory for the Millions_… nope… _Magical Theory for my Mum_… a definite no… AHA! _Magical Theory: The Soul of Darkness_… yes!" Hermione's fingers tingled. She could just tell that this was the book. She felt an excited jump in the pit of her stomach, the butterfly feeling she always got when she was on the brink of discovery.

Reaching out for the book, she did nothing to stop a silly smile from stretching across her face. She was blissfully unaware of her surroundings. _This is it. _She thought. She reached her hand slowly out to touch the books spine. _This could be the book that helps you balance the equations to determine HIS weakness… this could be the book that defeats Lord Voldemort… this could be the book that'll finally bring Harry and Ron back to reality—make them realize that there ARE solutions, but that they need to focus on them… this could be the book that—_Hermoine jumped a foot in the air. Her hand had definitely not just touched the papery spine of a book. Because as far as Hermione Granger knew, books were not warm, or soft, or moving. She whirled around, her cheeks flushing as she realized that someone had found her at her most personal moment—the moment of discovery.

And her breath caught. Pools of crystalline silver liquid tinged with darkness held her own amber ones, as she looked into the eyes of the intruder.

"What the hell are you doing!" she hissed angrily at the person, whipping her head back to where their hands still touched one another's, both resting on the spine of the book. "If you'll kindly move your hand, I'll take my book and be gone…" Looking up, she realized who she was speaking to. _Damn. Of all the people to run into, it had to be Malfoy. _

"Not so fast, Granger…" the tall, lanky boy captured her gaze again, smirking at her obvious distress. "I'm sorry if I caught you at a… personal… moment…" Hermione fumed. He made her ritual of discovery sound so dirty! Like she'd been doing something naughty in the bookstore isle, not reveling in finding new knowledge.

"Shove off Malfoy!" She growled. "Not all of us have your lack of decency—I certainly would never have a 'personal' moment, as you so tactfully put it, in a bookstore!" Her voice was laced with annoyance and condescension. Malfoy quickly got annoyed too. _Geeze. Turn it into a personal attack, why don't you, Granger! _

"Where's the motley crew, Granger? Have they finally seen the light and gotten sick of you?" he asked, smirking as she bit her lip angrily. _Calm down, Hermione!_ She told herself. _Just get the book and leave. _

"Actually, the other way around, Malfoy…" He raised his eyebrows, shocked at her admission. _Damn. _Thought Hermione. _Why did I just tell him that? _"Not that it's any of your business, anyway…"

"You might find it'll be more of my business than you'd think…" he whispered, looking grumpily at her.

"Well, I don't have a damned idea what you're talking about Malfoy, but whatever stick's up your arse, please remove it, and let me have my book!" Her voice rose as she finished her sentence. Malfoy looked surprisedly at her. _So she doesn't know yet. Ah, sweet ignorance… well, she'll find out soon enough… I'll let her keep guessing…_

"Temper, temper, Granger!" Draco's voice once again took on a smooth, controlled edge. "I'm afraid your dulcet tones are not conducive to cooperation." He smirked at her for good measure.

"Malfoy!" she positively growled, her hand now wrestling against his for the book. "Just leave!"

"Why should I?" he asked. "Give me one good reason to let you have the book I happen to also want to read!" Hermione spluttered. _What could he possibly want with this book?_ She wondered.

"Why do you care about magical theory?" she responded, still angry, but now curious, too.

"I just do, Granger… deal with not always having logical answers to everything, because I'm not about to tell you anything about why I want the book," Draco responded. "And you'd better give me a good reason right now to let you have the book… or else!" Hermione closed her eyes. She really hated to abuse power, but there really was no choice.

"If you don't give me the book, I'll scream. The shopkeeper will come running. I'll tell him you threatened me. Your father's a Death Eater. You're probably one, too. It won't turn out well for you… not at all… but I'd be happy to buy you _Magical Theory for my Mum_…" Hermione smiled sweetly at Draco, and then slowly smirked. So what if she wasn't above blackmail all the time? Draco sucked in his breath. _Damn. She doesn't back down!_

"How very Slytherin of you, Granger…" he remarked, concealing his anger well.

"Don't say that Malfoy…" She growled, immmediatley angry again. "I'm the least Slytherin person you know—don't deny it…"

"Much to the contrary, Granger, you're being manipulative and using every aspect of the situation to your benefit—very Slytherin…" Draco had merely said it to annoy her, but as he finished speaking, he realized it was true. _Well, well, well, Granger does have a Slytherin side… it's actually kind of intriguing… _Hermione glowered at him.

"So what are you going to do about the book, Malfoy?" she asked after a moment. He looked at her, his gaze hard and calculating, before speaking.

"I'm going to let go. I'm going to let you have the book. But be warned—I'll be seeing a lot more of you next year then you know now. And I expect you to share that book…" Draco's voice dropped practically to a whisper. Hermione looked at him, and for a moment she was speechless. There was something in his eyes that she'd never seen before. Trust. And somehow, it was beautiful. He trusted her because he knew her Gryffindor honour would prevent her from not keeping a bargain.

"Fine, Malfoy… agreed… but what do you mean by—" she never got to finish her sentence. Malfoy dropped the half of the book he'd claimed, and disappeared quickly beyond the end of the aisle. Hermione shook her head. _Odd. So odd. What in the name of Merlin's spotted boxers did he mean? 'I'll be seeing a lot more of you next year then you know now'… I wonder… But one thing's clear; he's still an arsehole._

***

Over the next weeks Hermione pored over the book. She _knew_ the answer was in there. She just knew it. It had to be. The book was a good five inches thick, and densely written, but she tackled it unabashedly, disillusioning it so it looked like lighter reading material so the boys wouldn't question her about it if they caught her reading it. Of course they didn't. They threw themselves wholeheartedly into the remainder of their summer, clearly not wanting to miss a single second of potential Quidditch or relaxing time.

But she couldn't find the answer. To her, it seemed as if Malfoy had taken the answer away—as if their conversation had made her lose her focus; no matter how many arithmancy equations she wrote out to solve for the magical weakness that corresponded to the magical strengths Voldemort obtained from his Horcruxes, Hermione found nothing. The book was helpful, but not in the way she'd hoped, and so the day of their return to Hogwarts dawned with Hermione feeling significantly defeated, and disconnected from her friends.

A/N: I hope the magical theory stuff makes sense. I just kind of made it up, because I really know nothing about real magical theory… so this will actually be a pretty big theme in the story, so please just go with it… hopefully if you accept it for how I've written it, my plot will make sense in time… and please review, leaving thoughts, ideas, criticism, reactions, etc… =]]


	3. Chapter III: Expressly Horrifying

**Out of Chaos**

Disclaimer: I own absolutely NOTHING in the Harry Potter world. It all belongs to the lucky and imaginative JK Rowling: Kudos to her. Please don't sue me.

A/N: Well, here's another one… I feel absolutely terrible writing this fic because I've currently ditched my other fic (just it doesn't know it yet)… but I must go where my inspiration leads me… keep the reviews coming, and I'll keep the chapters coming… I'm really enjoying writing this one so far, so hopefully I won't run out of steam 'til the last chapter…

**Chapter III: Express-ly Horrifying**

Draco:

Someone is knocking on my door. Big surprise there. Because today I go back to Hogwarts. Yes. Score. My life will be semi-bearable again.

I get up quickly. No need for whoever it is to barge in and wake me up. It's probably my mom, waiting to press sloppy mother-will-miss-you smooches on my no-longer-childlike-and-chubby cheeks.

My dressing robe is so soft, I'm tempted to go back to bed after I pull it on, but the insistent knocking keeps me moving as I slip on my slippers and head towards the door.

"Yes?" I ask, already knowing who it is. I can't hear anyone moving outside, so it's definitely my mother. When my father waits outside the door (which is an unlikely circumstance in itself) he shifts his weight subtly from foot to foot. The house elves bounce around like children who've overdosed on pepper-up potion…. So it's definitely my mother out there. She is always still. Tranquil. An island of ferocious calm, waiting to re-seize control of my life whenever possible.

"Draco, darling, I have your books. I'm sorry I didn't get them to you earlier, but your Auntie Bella wanted to know what you'd be studying this year, so I lent them to her… may I come in, sweetums?" she's already pushing the door open, but she asks as a second thought, a precautionary measure to allow me to maintain my illusion of independence. "Needless to say she wasn't impressed, except perhaps by your potions book… she thinks your studies are altogether too tame… but that's Bella for you—what a dear…" I snort in laughter, quickly disguising it with a cough at my mother's glare. My Auntie Bella is anything but a dear. Who but my mother would classify Bellatrix Lestrange—number two on the ministry's wanted list, and definite psychopath—as 'a dear'? I guess it's her method of coping—she wants so much to have a perfect, unshadowed pureblood life that she fabricates a reality in her own mind, and transfers it to our lives. I guess it's better than going nuts like Auntie Bella—that's how she dealt with all the darkness—but honestly, it gets to be frustrating when you _know_ your own mother is living in her own little bubble of deception…

"She could always submit a letter of complaint to McGonagall and the Board of Directors, if she really cares that much— " I begin to suggest sarcastically.

"Really Draco? You know better than that—no one would really care what your Aunt has to say—in fact they'd probably trace the owl and capture her…" she protests, completely missing my sarcasm. It's actually quite sad how disconnected we are—she used to appreciate my brand of slightly twisted humour—now she doesn't even see it… but perhaps it's because she doesn't want to see the real me, because I'm not who she wanted to be me. That's the confusing part. For the most part, I do what my mother asks of me. True, I don't do it enthusiastically, but I do it. So why does she always act so dissatisfied with me, with our life. Nothing is ever good enough for a Malfoy. And nothing—including me— is ever good enough for my mother.

***

Two hours later, I've been treated to my last breakfast of the year on ornate Malfoy heirloom dinnerware, using Black silver cutlery. I won't be coming home for Christmas Holidays. No thank you, I've already told mother I plan to stay and work on a project with Severus. Honestly, I'll probably just laze around and entertain myself baiting first years, but either way, I'm certainly not coming home.

The house elves clear away the plates, and when I return to my bedroom, my trunk is sitting in the middle of the thick green carpet, my bedroom strangely bare; all my belongings have been packed into my magically enlarged trunk. I feel a strange sense of loss. This place has been my haven; when my father is storming downstairs, or meeting with his Death Eater cronies, this is where I come. When my mother is attempting to lure me to another Social Function, this is my refuge. And I will never return here. I'm of age. I have my own plans for my future. When I leave Hogwarts, I have no plans to return to my childhood home. Because as far as I'm concerned the only part of this mansion that is home is this room. And somehow, stripped bare of all the memories, it barely even seems like my room; it's more symbolic of my leaving than anything else.

Grabbing my trunk and levitating my owl in her cage ahead of me, I head out the door of my bedroom. I don't look back. As I make my way through the dismal halls, the paintings, the furniture, the very walls seem to whisper 'you'll be back'. Maybe my mother is right. Maybe it is my fate to become my father. To fill is dark shoes when he dies, to be the next right hand man to the next Dark Lord. But if I can make my own fate, I will. Maybe I will be a Dark wizard. But I damn well won't be the next right hand man. I'd rather be the next Dark Lord. Because no man deserves to have his life planned out from birth. No one. Not even my Father. And most definitely not me.

***

Hermione:

Harry and Ron are miserable lumps next to me as we squish into the magical taxi Mr. Weasley has secured for us. You'd think that after all these months of summer Harry would be more excited to return to Hogwarts. I know how he feels about it. Hogwarts is his home—he's always loved it there—every year on the train I can see the hope and light returning to his eyes after a long summer at the Dursleys as Hogwarts meanders into his line of vision. But this year, both boys seem pressed down by the reality that Hogwarts represents; no more carefree days of Quidditch and practical jokes.

Quite honestly, I couldn't care less where I am. Most likely there will be better resources at Hogwarts anyway. I'll have my own quarters as head girl, so I won't need to worry about interruptions doing my research—except from the head boy… and by the way, who is the new head boy? I really have no clue—clearly it's not Ron, but it could be Ernie, or Justin Finch-Fletchly…or even Blaise Zabini from Slytherin… I'm broken from my thoughts by Mr. Weasley's voice, coming from somewhere in front of me, amongst our trunks. He sounds uncomfortable.

"Children, I must warn you…" his voice takes on a tone similar to the one Dumbledore always used to break bad new to us. "This year isn't going to be easy. The ministry has some tricks up its sleeve to ensure the survival of the wizarding population. Tricks I don't agree with totally. Tricks Dumbledore would be dead-set against. Trust me when I say, however, that the ministry does have your best interests at heart. Trust me that they will choose what—or who—is best for you…" His speech totally baffles me. What on earth could the ministry be planning? Mr Weasley's 'or who' implies that maybe it's some sort of partner survival activity? It sounds far-fetched, but after what I call the 'Umbridge intervention' last year, who knows what nonsense the ministry will get up to, trying to 'protect' the young wizarding population within Hogwarts. Harry and Ron look completely nonplussed.

"Mr. Weasley, could you perhaps elaborate?" I ask, even though his closed expression implies that it's another one of those 'classified information' situations. Ah well…

"Sorry Hermione. Can't do that. You see, it's classified information. But I reckon you'll find out soon enough…" Mr. Weasley grimaces, and I cant tell if it's from the prospect of our reactions to the pending news, or because the taxi takes a sharp corner and sever of our trunks bash quite forcefully into his ribcage. Obviously trying to change the subject, he continues. "We'll be at King's Cross soon. We're running late, so I'll say my good byes here. What did Molly tell me to tell you? She'll skin me alive if I forget anything… ah yes… Careful what you put in owls, stay safe, when in doubt talk to Professor McGonagall, constant vigilance, and… oh yes… good luck with the Ministry's decree…" Obviously he didn't want to bring that topic up again, but clearly he's more afraid of Mrs. Weasley's wrath than our questions about this mysterious decree.

He's saved our interrogation (or mine at least—the boys actually don't seem that interested, and Ginny is surprisingly silent) by our arrival at King's Cross. The cabby has somehow found a spot directly next to barrier between platforms 9 and 10. Magic. It's truly so convenient. I smile, and flick my want, levitating my trunk away from Mr. Weasley's ribs, but doing so in such a way that to Muggles it will appear that he's pushing it. Stowing my wand quickly away, I jump out of the car, grab my trunk, and head towards the platform. Ron and Harry are grumbling behind me—apparently their trunks have taken a particular liking to one another, and are somehow stuck together. I smile slightly, looking back at my two best friends. Some things never change. Ginny catches up with me, and elbows me.

"Let's go get trolleys. We can go through together…" I simply nod at her suggestion. We really don't have much to say to one another any more these days. She's still angry at me for my 'inappropriate treatment' of Ron. I'm a bit miffed that she views my behavior as such… but she's entitled to her view. We grab trolleys, and together we push through the barrier.

My breath catches in my throat. The Hogwarts Express is positively beautiful. It has never ceased to take my breath away. Somehow, whenever I see it, it suddenly hits me just how lucky I am. And this year, despite the war, my rocky relationship with Ron, and my parental woes, I feel luckier than ever. I've made it to my seventh year. I've got incredible (if a bit neglectful) best friends. And I'm head girl. I quickly pin on my badge, and begin assisting first years who have stopped in their tracks staring at the train, their eyes glazed over in wonder.

A few minutes later Harry and Ron make their way through the barrier. Their laughing together, and the sight of them so carefree actually brings tears to my eyes. They truly deserve a chance at happiness; we've all grown up far too fast. But I can't bring myself to forget the horrors that are constantly around us. Together we board the train, and find a compartment with Neville, and Luna.

"Congrats…" Luna looks at me, her unusual blue eyes strangely unfocused. I see her eyes are focused on badge. I blush slightly.

"Oh… thanks, Luna…" I smile slightly shyly back at her… she truly is a sweetheart, I just don't always know what to say to her. Eccentricity can be a bit of a throw-off sometimes…

We settle into comfortable, meaningless conversation as the train starts moving through the hills towards Hogwarts.

***

Draco:

"Drakie! Darling! Smoochums! Come here and let Pansy say hello," Pansy reaches her arms out as she screams, doubtless trying to catch me in her devil's snare-like clutches. Luckily, I have the reflexes of a seeker, and I dodge her effectively. God, doesn't the woman realize we broke up mid-fourth year? I ignore her, quickly slipping into a compartment with Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott and Crabbe and Goyle. They haven't acquired any extra brain cells since last spring, but at least they're easy enough to control. And Blaise is absolutely hilarious. Theodore is passable—not particularly intelligent, but not particularly thick-skulled, either. Reaching down, I finger my Head Boy badge. I feel a bit prissy wearing it. Like Percy Weasley, or Granger. Like a know-it-all. But my reputation of course erases any question of me being classified in their do-good, perfect student category. Why McGonagall picked me is beyond my comprehension. Maybe the old witch has finally gone bonkers.

"Well, gentlemen, as stimulating and pleasant as this conversation has been, I must leave now…" I smirk at Crabbe and Goyle's uncomprehending faces. Their vocabularies are strictly limited to under five-letter words. "I've got to get going to the Head compartment."

"Have fun, mate…" Blaise smirks right back at me. "Don't party too hard without us…" He knows damn well that it'll most likely be one of the most boring experiences of the year—meeting with the Head Girl (who my father has informed me is the muggle know-it-all woodchuck, Granger), and then the prefects.

When I arrive at the compartment labeled 'Heads' in ornate gold script, I push the door open dramatically, hoping Granger's already in there. I'd love the scare the shit out of her with a dramatic entrance. She's not there yet. The compartment's pretty nice, though; the seats are completely un-faded, and much more comfortable than the regular seats. There's a small snack-bar in the corner stocked with all the items the trolley provides, and more. In the middle of the compartment a strangely heavy-looking wood table sits. I quickly spy a letter on it. Doubtless from McGonagall. It's addressed to both Granger and I, but why should I wait for her? I open the thick parchment envelope quickly. Inside is a letter, as I suspected. I begin to read it.

_Dear Mr. Malfoy and Ms. Granger-_

_Doubtless you are now aware that you are the Heads for this year. This is a position of prestige, earned by hard work, academic achievement, obviously leadership qualities, and appropriate behavior. I must now deviate from my normal congratulations to warn you that proper decorum must be exhibited at times; the Heads must appear to function together as a unified and single-minded team. Any divisions or arguments must be strictly private, and the School as a hole must never become aware of them. That said, I have the utmost confidence that the two of you will overcome your differences and past rivalries and exceed even my expectations. As Heads you have many privileges other students are not allowed, which I will elaborate upon at our first meeting. These privileges, as well as your positions will be on the line, should you not cooperate with one another. _

_Secondly, I must inform you of your duties that you will carry out today. Firstly, I hope you have already assisted the first years in familiarizing themselves with the train. Secondly, the prefects will meet with both of you in your compartment at twelve o'clock—both of you will doubtless arrive here, as instructed, by 11:30. You will assign them each patrolling duties in pairs, as you see fit, for the duration of the train journey. You will then assist the first years in their arrival in Hogsmeade, and will also this year be briefing the first years on the sorting, since regretfully I will be unable to do so this year. I trust you will find the appropriate words to both comfort the students and impress upon them the importance of the sorting. Lastly, I expect both of you to remain in the Heads compartment for the remainder of the journey. _

_Sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Headmistress_

As I finish, as if on cue, the door opens. It's Granger. She takes on look at me, and her eyes go very, very wide. Her mouth drops open, and her arms hang loosely by her sides. She begins to sway. Damn. I don't need a concussed head girl on my hands when we've got to meet with the prefects in half an hour.

"Hello, Granger," I say cheerily. I know that smirking at her will infuriate her more, so I allow the corner of my mouth to pull up into my trademark expression. Take that, Granger. Sadly, she doesn't react quite as I'd hoped. Her face turns an unfortunate, pasty porridge color. She begins to topple over. Once again, my damned seeker reflexes kick in. I grab her. For a second, everything seems to stop. I'm holding mudblood Granger in my arms. This is horrifying. When her eyes open, she, too, looks positively horrified. It's all so terrible, I drop her. Damn. That doesn't look good, and even if I don't care what she thinks of me, it's bound to get around that I dropped a girl on the ground. Which will do absolutely nothing for my reputation.

"Now I get it, Malfoy…" she says, her eyes narrowing dangerously, 'til I can't see anything but her pupils through her dark lashes. This isn't the response I'd expected after a near-fainting spell.

"Get what?" I know I sound stupid, but she really caught me off guard. I'd expected her to demonstrate her Gryffindor hot-headedness… but no! instead she goes all cool and collected and vicious. What am I supposed to say to that. She smirks. She actually _smirks_. Yes, it's a sorry imitation, but I didn't even know Gryffindor faces were capable of pulling off that expression. Their jaw muscles are supposed to be immune to all conniving, manipulative expressions!

"You. I get you now Malfoy. What you said in Flourish in Blots. I get it." She speaks condescendingly, like she's speaking to a two-year old, but she sounds almost excited that she's solved the 'what Malfoy was talking about puzzle'. Her smirk actually has the audacity to grow. However, there actually seems to be happiness in here eyes. It makes absolutely no sense whatsoever.

"There's a letter from McGonagall…" I thrust it into her hands, hoping she'll get papercuts from it. "If you'd been on time, maybe I'd have let you read it first. But unfortunately it seems that a summer spent without human contact has dulled your sense of time." I know I'm being cruel—I stumbled across her insecurities about her friends during our discussion in Flourish and Blots—and I know this isn't a great way to start our year as a 'unified single-minded team'. However, I'm a Slytherin. It's in my nature to play off others' weaknesses.

"I didn't know you took punctuality so seriously Malfoy!" Granger says, responding with mock surprise. I narrow my eyes at her. I can see where this is going. "I'll be sure to tell everyone how _wonderfully_ committed you are to your new position!" I find myself close to growling. She knows damn well that I don't want my reputation as Slytherin bad boy to be ruined by the Head position.

"Well Granger—" I start, but she cuts me off with a vicious glare, holding her forefinger to her lips.

"Do shut up, Malfoy. I'm trying to read this damned letter before the prefects arrive…" She trails off, her brow furrowed in concentration, or maybe annoyance as her eyes scan over the letter. I consider continuing talking just to annoy her, but honestly I didn't have a good retort anyway. A good Slytherin knows when to retreat and contemplate future tactics. I move towards our little snack stash and start unwrapping chocolate frogs and licorice wands. I know it's immature, but I let one of the frogs go, knowing it'll annoy Granger. It hops around, but she ignores it. I sit, munching on my goodies and alternately watching the frog and her. Eventually the frog finds it's way to her hair. She positively fumes as she grabs at it. Whipping around, she looks at me. Then she does probably the most surprising thing possible. She picks the frog up off her own head, turns around, and slowly and deliberately bites into it, her golden-amber eyes holding mine all the while. And somehow, it's actually kind of sexy. Damn. I did not just think that.

***

Hogwarts' headmistress sat in her office, immersed in paperwork. The students would arrive in just a few hours, and she needed to make sure everything was in order; that they would all be safe, and that all their schedules were organized. Since Dumbledore's death, she'd kept her duties as Professor, as well as many of her Deputy Headmistress duties, but had also taken on Dumbledore's duties. She really had far too much to do. Therefore she was relying more upon other teachers and the Head Girl and Boy. And she honestly hoped that she hadn't made a bad decision by selecting to enemies to be the Heads. But honestly, they were both so bright, that she didn't see how they couldn't see the obvious benefits of just sucking it up and cooperating with one another. However, several people disagreed with her. One was Filius Flitwick, who just happened to be outside the headmistress' door at that very moment. McGonagall hear him pacing, and sighed. Clearly he wanted to discuss something with her. Again. She had a good idea of what it was.

"Come in, Filius, please," she shouted. Almost immediately the little man hurried in. She gestured for him to sit down in the spindly chair across from her. After Dumbledore's death the office hadn't changed that much. Many of Dumbledore's trinkets remained, but they somehow had a more purposeful, organized and less whimsical feel to them than they had in Dumbledore's day. The whole office was much more practical and severe.

"Well, Minerva, I'm here to have one last go at convincing you to change your mind…" Filius began, his voice trembling slightly with emotion. He was clearly distraught. "Minerva—there will be chaos. You know it… you can't allow things to continue as they are—put a wedge in fate—at least halt the course of fate until they are out of Hogwarts—none of us deserve… oh dear… the chaos… please, Minerva, it's not too late to change your mind. Miss Granger would understand, were you to pick a different Head. And Mr. Malfoy would have no choice but to cope…"

"Filius… what else can I do? They've already received their letters. As we speak, they are fulfilling the first of their duties on the train…" McGonagall explained, sighing audibly. "I know you don't agree with my decision to make Mr. Malfoy Head Boy—you were the most adamantly against it—but the staff, like the Heads, must show a united face. I made my decision based on teachers' recommendations, as well as on the lists the ministry has provided us with… Mr. Malfoy and Ms. Granger should grow accustomed to working with one another—they'll have to do it much more in the future…" McGonagall rubbed her eyes tiredly, allowing her façade of strength to crack for just a few seconds before her colleague. Quickly straightening up, she looked him in the eye. "It will be chaos. You're right Filius. But perhaps out of chaos will come something tolerable, if not beneficial. They have no choice in the matter of the ministry. And I no longer have any choice, either; I made my decision long ago…"

Leaving the office ten minutes later, Filius Flitwick shook his head. No children should have to fight like adults. And no children should be submitted to what the ministry had in store for the seventh years…

**A/N: Please review, I'd really appreciate it… good or bad, your thoughts help me develop this story to its full potential—and they keep me going! I should be updating fairly regularly, if the reviews keep coming **


	4. Chapter IV: Oodles of Everything Miserab

**Out of Chaos**

Disclaimer: I own absolutely NOTHING in the Harry Potter world. It all belongs to the lucky and imaginative JK Rowling: Kudos to her. Please don't sue me.

A/N: Well, thanks to those who have reviewed—I really do appreciate it! To those of you who have favorited/subscribed to this story, but not reviewed, I'd encourage you to just take a few seconds and drop a line or two—believe it or not, I actually do really appreciate them… I plan to kind of get everyone settled into Hogwarts in this chapter—and introduce the big 'catalyst'—I hope you like!! ;)

**Chapter IV: Oodles of Everything Miserable **

The student body as a whole seemed to be positively glowing. Their stomachs filled with food, surrounded by their friends, all the troubles of the world seemed so removed from them. At least that's how it seemed to Hermione. Dumbledore had always had a knack for impressing the seriousness of a situation on the students of Hogwarts, even in times of levity such as the opening feast, without ruining the mood completely. McGonagall had skirted all 'heavy' issues completely, opting to give a bland, factual opening speech completely devoid of any mention of Death Eaters, Lord Voldemort, or war, beyond warning the students to maintain 'constant vigilance'. At this Harry, Ron and Ginny had all burst out into ill-disguised fits of giggles; clearly they were thinking of Mad-Eye Moody, and how odd his favorite anecdote sounded coming from McGonagall's lips. Hermione frowned. Really, it was a serious reminder; the students couldn't let their guard down for even a moment; who knew when the war could reach them?

But Hermione seemed to be one of the few students who allowed reality to pull down her spirits. In fact, the buoyant spirit of the hall was so infectious, Hermione found herself laughing and joking with Harry and Ron, feeling almost as if they were back to old times, before what Hermione deemed the 'disastrous summer' that drove a wedge through their friendship. Guilt however, was a double-edged sword that was ever-present in Hermione's stomach even as she laughed with her friends. On one level, she desperately wanted the boys to be able to have the childhood they obviously so desperately craved; they'd all had to grow up too fast, and clearly Harry and Ron's refusal to even think about anything more serious than timetables was a reaction to this. At the same time, however, Hermione knew that time was running out. _We have the knowledge to defeat Voldemort. Or at least more knowledge than anyone else does. It's our responsibility to act before it's too late to stop him. _

By the time dessert rolled round, Hermione's mood had drooped back to its original low. She picked absent-mindedly at her treacle tart, aware that dinner was almost over. She suddenly felt very tired; but there was still so much left to do tonight. She had to assist the prefects in organizing the younger years in their march to the house common rooms; then she had to meet with McGonagall and that arse Malfoy, and finally be shown to the Head quarters. Only then could she even begin to relax. Ron nudged her elbow.

"You going to finish that treacle, 'Mione?" he questioned, already reaching out to take her plate. Hermione couldn't help but smile. At times Ron and Harry could read her like a book… and at other times, they didn't get her at all….

" 'Course not, Ron…" she smiled back at him, succumbing to his boyish charm. "It's all yours." He grinned, and dove wholeheartedly into her barely-touched dessert. Hermione once again allowed her mind to drift away. _It'd be so easy to fall back into our old pattern; Ron's just too likeable. But it'd end up just as it has this time; he'd be hurt and confused as to why I wanted to break it off… and I'd be back at ground zero in terms of my relationship with Ginny and Harry—they're bound to take Ron's side. _Hermione's frown deepened. Come to think of it, she wasn't completely sure whether or not Ron was aware that their relationship was over. _Maybe I should talk to him about that… _In her mind, it had been clear since midsummer that they were no longer compatible. It was altogether too easy, with the boys never around, to forget that they weren't necessarily on the same page as her…

Hermione was brought out of her musings by McGonagall standing and tapping her goblet with a spoon. The action made an altogether unnatural noise, not wholly unlike a hippogriff's cry, but slightly louder. The students winced collectively, and McGonagall looked slightly surprised. Hermione looked over at the Slytherin table. Blaise Zabini was smirking, his eyes full of suppressed laughter. Malfoy looked slightly cowed. Hermione could imagine his predicament; as Head Boy, it was his job to reprimand Zabini, but at the same time, he didn't want to appear to be a goody-two-shoes. Hermione laughed. This whole Head Boy business would prove much more socially challenging for Malfoy than it would for her.

"Attention, students!" McGonagall's voice rang out loud and clear across the hall. "It has been my delight to share your first evening back at Hogwarts with you. Now that we are all full of good food, I now have a few closing announcements to make that I withheld at my opening speech. Firstly, it is my great pleasure to introduce you new Heads. Head Girl for this year, from Gryffindor house, is Hermione Granger!" The pride was evident in McGonagall's voice as she spoke. Enthusiastic applause broke out across the hall. "And your Head boy, from Slytherin house, is Draco Malfoy" a faint expression of resigned distaste was evident on McGonagall's face for a mere moment; then it was gone. A barrage of applause ensued, primarily from the Slytherin table, and polite claps followed from the other houses. Malfoy smirked in an infuriatingly self-satisfied manner. After the applause had died down, McGonagall spoke again. "It is also my pleasure to draw your attention to a few staffing changes that have been made for this year. Replacing Professor Snape as Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher is Nymphadora Tonks, Ministry Auror and Hogwarts graduate." Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny clapped especially loudly.

"Why didn't she mention something to us?" Ron stage-whispered, clearly a little offended. "When I saw her at the table earlier I figured she was just here on Order business!" Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Well maybe if you'd spent more time with your head attached to reality, instead of in the clouds on your broomsticks you would've heard it… I talked to her about it months ago!" Hermione responded, a bit miffed at Ron's ignorance. _Another example of how they've been shunning reality this summer…And really, the fact that we haven't talked enough for me to tell them about Tonks being a professor shows just how little contact we've had all summer; it's rather sad… _Ron looked a little insulted, but was prevented from retorting by McGonagall continuing.

"Horace Slughorn will continue on as Potions professor, in addition to taking on the position of Head of Slytherin house. Divination lessons this year will be once again taught jointly by Firenze and Professor Trelawney. Please put your best feet forward as you welcome our new appointment. Finally, in conclusion to this truly wonderful evening, I would like all the seventh years to stay behind for a few minutes, during which I will convey news of the gravest import. After that, I would like to meet with the Head Boy and Girl in my office. Thank you, and prefects excluding seventh years, please escort the your respective Houses to their common rooms, maintaining decorum at all times. Good night!"

There was a general racket as the majority of the school got up from the benches, stretching in contentment as they made their way towards their common rooms. Ginny gave Harry a final, questioning look before getting up and leaving with the rest of her year. An odd feeling of dread settled in the pit of Hermione's stomach, like a particularly poorly-cooked meal. _This must be about whatever Mr. Weasley mentioned to us. McGonagall looks grimmer than usual; that's not a good sign. _As the hall emptied, the seventh years quieted down, waiting for McGonagall to speak.

"Here to brief you on an unfortunate, life-changing and tragically unavoidable circumstance foisted upon you by the Ministry of Magic is Ministry representative, Mr. Peter Weasley," McGonagall looked highly uncomfortable. Hermione was surprised by her adamant dislike of whatever news they were about to receive.

"Git…" muttered Ron, looking at Percy with undisguised disgust. "Thinks he's so great, as the bearer of bad news…" Hermione pointedly ignored him. She had a feeling Percy would soon be the least of Ron's troubles. Percy smiled stiffly at the assembly before beginning to speak.

"Well, that might be overkill Minerva…" He clearly enjoyed calling the headmistress by her first name. He then launched into what was most probably a completely pre-planned speech, toiling through student's outraged shouts as he progressed. "It is my duty to come before you today to inform you of a potential tragedy that is beginning as I speak in the wizarding world; the loss of people with the ability to perform magic. Because of the decrease in marriages, and corresponding decrease in child production due to reportedly unstable political circumstances involving he-who-must-not-be-named, the wizarding population is declining at the alarming rate of 34% per year. Yes, these are the facts. We at the Ministry do not predict any relief from this predicament in the near future, and extinction of the entire wizarding community seems imminent. However, after much heated debating and contemplation, the Ministry has found a potential solution." Hermione's stomach dropped unpleasantly. She could think of a few potential solutions, and none of them seemed even slightly pleasant. Percy cleared his throat in a rather self-satisfied manner, sending the assembled seventh years meaningful looks before continuing his speech. Clearly he was reaching the dramatic climax of the debriefing.

"We at the Ministry believe, above all, that the happiness of the wizarding population is essential. We feel that the measures we have taken to preserve the wizarding population will, in the long run, also promote the general happiness of the wizarding population. Therefore, it is my duty to inform you all that a Marriage Law has been put into effect, as of today, September first. Doubtless you will all read about it in the paper tomorrow, but I'm hear to give you the Ministry's hearty well-wishes, and to inform you of the specifics." The students gazing at Percy looked stunned. Ron's face was fluctuating between different shades of puce, and Harry looked as if he'd swallowed a blast-ended skrewt. Hermione's mind was already calculating. Needless to say, she was livid. But she was sure that there must be some loophole, some ancient law of the wizarding world, that would allow her to escape… Percy looked once again down at the assembly, clearly waiting for a reaction. _Perhaps he expects cheers, or a couple hearty 'hear, hear's… _Hermione thought disgustedly. _He really has no clue what this will do to our lives… of course, he's probably affected by it, too, but doubtless he already has found someone he's happy to marry… _ Percy realized he wasn't going to get the enthusiastic reaction he'd hoped for, so he cleared his throat and continued his speech hurriedly.

"All witches between the ages of seventeen and fifty, and all wizards between the ages of seventeen and sixty-five are subject to this law. Please note that the differences in the age limits of the two genders does not in any way reflect sexism on the part of the ministry; rather we have set up the age categories based on the differences between the time periods in which males and females are able to produce offspring, in keeping with the goals of this law…" for the first time, Percy's composure wavered slightly, and his ears blushed a deep beetroot-red. Despite his obvious embarrassment, he ploughed on. "Witches or wizards who have relations with another witch or wizard currently may petition to continue these relationships; however, for the most part, the ministry will choose for you. In fact, unbenknownst to you, the surveys you filled out last year for 'census purposes' in addition to interviews with your teachers and family members have contributed to the ministry's final pairings. Because there is currently an excess of witches, some witches will have a choice between two or even three wizards that were deemed compatible. Typically your prospective partners will be within your age range, but if you were deemed particularly compatible with an older witch or wizard, then accept please realize that soul mates are not decided based on age! If you are currently dating a witch or wizard who is two years or less under or over the age range, you may petition to be joined with said witch or wizard. Your Headmistress and teachers are already aware of your pairings, but tomorrow you will receive the names of your choices in the morning post. Thank you, and I wish to personally congratulate you all, on behalf on the Ministry of Magic, on your inevitably happy futures!" Percy left quickly. Clearly he'd picked up on the discontented mood of the crowd. McGonagall stood at the staff table, surveying her students with sad eyes for a few moments before speaking.

"There is little more I can say to you. Mr. Weasley has done an adequate job of briefing you all on the ins and outs of this new law. I'm sorry, but I myself have searched wizarding for a way to avoid this legislation, and unfortunately it seems that all we can now do is make the best of a…" McGonagall paused, looking for the right words, "…sticky situation. In addition, I must warn many of you that the pairings are somewhat unpredictable. While I see the wisdom in some of them, others seem completely illogical and frankly, quite dangerous…" For some reason Hermione felt McGonagall's eyes linger on her for longer than the other students. "I have bargained with the ministry, buying you all more time. You won't have to be married until February, though you will be required to spend 'bonding time' with your partners. Also, please do not ask me to reveal your pairings tonight. Instead, please revel in one last night of blissful ignorance. You will not be required to produce children until well after you have graduated. I warn you that the consequences of not complying are far worse than making do with a haphazard marriage; failure to cooperate will result in expulsion from the wizarding world. On that dreary note, I bid you all goodnight."

The Headmistress' eyes swept over the assembled seventh years—for once her look held none of the usual bite; instead it felt closer to the caring gaze of a mother hen. Slowly, the noise level in the room rose.

"Bloody hell! There's no fucking way that they're allowed to do this to us! No way…" Ron's eyes were slightly glazed over as he spoke; he was clearly completely overwrought. "This is ridiculous. Crazy. Nutcases, the lot of them…" Ron continued to mutter abuses; on the other side of Hermione, Harry spluttered wordlessly, clearly too incensed for words. Hermione was resting her head in her hands; if McGonagall couldn't find a solution, how would she? Was it possible that there really was no way out?

***

Hermione had forgotten completely about the Heads meeting; she remembered only when she started on her way to Gryffindor tower. _What am I doing? _She wondered. _These aren't my rooms anymore, are they?_ Sighing, Hermione turned around, beginning the trek towards the Headmistress' office. Realizing she didn't know the password, she simply stood, staring at the Gargoyle that guarded the stairway to the Headmistress' office, lost in her thoughts until she was interrupted by a snort from behind her.

"Drowning in your puddles of excess brains over there, Granger?" A voice asked. Whipping her head around, Hermione glared at Draco.

"Of course Malfoy—it's an absolutely wonderful sensation, this feeling of actually being able to comprehend my surroundings—I feel so bad for all those ferrets out there that don't have the capability to contemplate the meaning of life…" Hermione trailed off, glaring at the blond Slytherin. Draco winced internally; he never liked being reminded of the 'bouncing ferret' incident of his fourth year. However, his countenance remained snottily aloof.

"Good to know you're losing it enough to revert to immature ferret jokes; it's also clear that you've completely forgotten to ask the password—really, Granger, what's the good of being a know-it-all if you don't know something? It's kind of like being a dragon without scales…" Draco smirked at her, his lips curling up derisively. "I happen to know the password however. Get out of the way—" He elbowed her in the ribs, ignore her slight hiss of pain. "Unanimous" intoned Malfoy, pronouncing the word in his distinct voice, which Hermione had classified as a 'high-class, mama's boy drawl'.

Draco and Hermione made their way up the spiral staircase in silence. Hermione was remembering Dumbledore, wishing he was still there. Somehow she knew he would have made things right—or at least made things better. Somehow his presence had always been comforting, even if he didn't have a real solution. Reaching the office, Draco knocked three times and stepped back, slouching behind Hermione. McGonagall opened the door, and after giving them both stern looks (Hermione wondered if somehow she'd managed to hear their bickering at the bottom of the staircase) she beckoned them in.

"Well, I think you both have a good idea of your duties as Head Boy and Girl," she began. They nodded, Draco looking usually bored, Hermione looking typically attentive. "You will both arrange the prefect patrol schedules, lead prefect meetings, arrange for prefect meetings, which much take place at least twice a month, as well as changing the prefects' bathroom password once monthly. During Hogsmeade excursions, you will be required to patrol together the whole time. You will also be able to dock points and bestow detentions, as before, and the staff or myself will meet with you every two months to review any important issues that may arise. You also will be in charge of arranging various all-school events; this year the staff has decided to allot more duties to the prefects and Heads. You will be required to plan a star-of-term ball after Christmas holidays, as well as scheduling Quidditch games. You will be required to be each others' partner's in all day-to-day duties, such as patrolling. Over the course of the year, the staff will ask various miscellaneous duties of you, which I expect you to fulfill with the utmost attentiveness. You will be sharing a common room, with adjoining private rooms and a bathroom. If you'll follow me, I'll show you the portrait. Any questions?" Hermione nodded.

"Yes, professor, I was just wondering what the rules were on visiting our houses, and if we were allowed to perhaps spend nights there occasionally..." Professor McGonagall frowned slightly at Hermione's query.

"Ah, thank you for asking that question, Ms. Granger," McGonagall began. "I nearly forgot to address the new privileges I have decided to bestow upon the heads…While I am afraid you are not allowed to spend more than one night occasionally away from your rooms, simply for the purposes of convenience (teachers should be able to find Heads at all times in case they need assistance), you will have access to all four common rooms this year; in this way, we hope you'll be able to take on some of the teacher's duties in relaying information to each house. I must impress upon you that these privileges are not to be abused; as Heads, you no longer represent just one house; while you still may earn points for your individual houses, you essentially represent the whole school, and I expect your full loyalties to lie with the whole school… Also, you two are allowed off-campus on weekdays between the end of classes and nine o'clock, and on weekends between ten o'clock and five o'clock. You may only utilize this privilege together, and you may not venture farther than London. You must check in with me before exercising these privileges. I have made this decision based on the fact that the Heads seldom have time to run any necessary errands while in Hogsmeade; I trust the two of you will cooperate with one another in organizing responsible outings." Hermione and Draco both stared at her. These outings were completely new; as far as Hermione knew (and she'd red _Hogwarts, A History_ quite a few times) this was completely unprecedented. _Students are __**never**__ allowed off the grounds except for Hogsmeade Weekends… but it makes sense… even as a prefect I didn't have enough time to get all my Hogsmeade errands done…too bad it'll have to be with Malfoy… _She shot Malfoy a dirty look as they made their way out of the office after McGonagall.

Upon arriving at her new room, however, Hermione's mood brightened considerably. _Who cares if I have to share it with Malfoy? _She thought happily. _It's very isolated; I won't be disturbed while I'm studying…_The portrait was of an old withered shepherd, wearing a hat similar to the Sorting Hat, bent over a flock of creatures that were most probably hippogriffs, though clearly the artist had never seen a real hippogriff. Hermione had to smile at that. It was somewhat ironic that Malfoy should have to live in a dorm protected by a painting of a hippogriff, after his encounter with Buckbeak in third year…

The man straightened up, and his whole face took on a somewhat scary expression; one of manic enthusiasm.

"Ah! The new Heads!" he chortled, pushing his way through the flock of Hippogriffs to peer closely at Hermione and Draco. "So good to see you, too, Minerva! I trust all is going well in this castle of yours!" McGonagall nodded curtly.

"All is going serviceably, thank you, Deniphius, but it's only the first day of school…" she smiled slightly condescendingly at the old man. "Ms. Granger, Mr. Malfoy, this is Deniphius Drumble, and he will guard your quarters. Deniphius, this is the new Head Girl, Hermione Granger of Gryffindor, and Draco Malfoy of Slytherin." Deniphius attempted what was surely meant to be a bow, though it seemed to Hermione to be more of a head dip accompanied by a stately bounce. McGonagall shot one last disapproving glance in Deniphius' general direction before turning her full attention back to the Heads. "This is where I leave you. Your belongings have been placed in your respective rooms. Please choose a password, and tell it Deniphius, who will keep it a secret unless a staff member is in great need of your assistance. I must warn you—" She paused for a moment, clearly torn between whether or not she should proceed in her speech, finally deciding to plough on. "—that this year will not be easy, especially not for the two of you. I can tell you no more at the time, but please remember; the detriments of any undesirable situation can be somewhat reduced by cooperation and acceptance. Find a solution. You are the brightest students in your year. I have faith in you." Turning swiftly on here heel, McGonagall marched quickly away from them. Hermione sighed. Another barely-veiled warning. Clearly, McGonagall knew something. And Hermione had an awful feeling it was something to do with that nasty Ministry legislation that had been foisted upon them…

Standing next to the leaden lump of dislike that was Malfoy, Hermione felt incredibly alone—but it wasn't really a new feeling, more like an old acquaintance after her long summer alone. Sighing, Hermione closed her eyes, and prepared to debate the new password with Malfoy.

***

Hermione's sense of forlornness was not really remedied by her lengthy 'discussion' over the new password with Malfoy. The boy—or perhaps she should say man—simply didn't know when to give up. He had insisted that 'weasel haters unite' would be a perfect password, since no one would guess that Hermione would allow it, while she had opted for 'Hippogriff'. Malfoy hadn't been pleased. After a good fifteen minutes worth of huffing, jabbing, stinging insults, and mild shouting, the two agreed on 'catastrophic unions', reflecting what they viewed to be the inevitable outcome of the Ministry's new ridiculous law. _At least we see eye to eye on that. _Hermione thought grimly as she entered her room.

The Heads' quarters were one thing that thrilled Hermione. They were ornate, comfortable, and as she'd predicted, perfect for studying. The bookshelves in the common were full of various useful, ancient-looking books, and the common room itself had a desk for each Head, and a plethora of plushy furniture. Pictures of notable heads who had gone on to do great things in life (Dumbledore among them, looking startlingly boyish) decorated the walls, along with seemingly random tapestries and portraits, similar to the one that guarded the entrance. There was even a small 'kitchenette'—a tiny table was surrounded by two chairs, and a note on the tabletop indicated that they could request meals from the House Elves whenever they wanted, though they were required to eat at least seven meals a week in the Great Hall. Hermione huffed slightly at the mention of House Elves in the note. However, she'd long since learned to choose her battles; she knew that some House Elves simply would not see sense about freedom; for some reason they had a sick attachment to enslavement. And besides, Dumbledore offered wages and vacations to any Elves that would accept them.

***

While Hermione had anticipated that Malfoy would be a vile dorm-mate, one thing she hadn't expected was the bathroom troubles that quickly arose. Getting ready for bed around Malfoy was a nightmare. Hermione had been brushing her teeth (she'd taken to doing it the muggle way again at the Burrow over the summer—it made her feel closer to her parents) when Malfoy walked in, and perched on the edge of the marble toilet, wearing a loose green dressing robe and matching slippers. It wasn't clear what he was wearing underneath, and quite frankly Hermione didn't want to know. She suddenly felt very exposed, dressed only in her deep purple nighty.

"You could knock!" huffed Hermione, spinning around and fixing Malfoy with a death glare.

"Well, I figured I'd come and see what horrendous hygiene practices facilitate that stink that constantly emanates from you…" Malfoy smirked, clearly proud of his rude joke.

"Well, go on watching, Malfoy, maybe you'll learn something about de-greasing hair…" Hermione knew this statement wasn't entirely true—Malfoy had long since abandoned his 'hard-hat' gelled hairdo, in favor of a loose, in-the-eyes sort of look that was almost (dare she say it?) sexy. Hermione shook her head angrily. _His hair hasn't gotten any better; it's just stringy instead of greasy! _She tried to convince herself.

"What're you doing?" Malfoy suddenly changed the topic, genuine interest showing though his rude, flippant persona as he watched her brush her teeth. Hermione sighed exasperatedly, but secretly she was glad he was no longer jabbing rude comments her way. At this time of night she was tired enough that even a short reprieve from verbal sparring felt like an oasis in a desert of painful monotony.

"I'm cleaning my teeth." At his blank gaze she added; "the muggle way." She quickly turned around, pretending to examine her face in the mirror as she brushed. _How weird is this? _She thought. _Malfoy and I are having a semi-civil conversation. And he's sitting on the toilet seat, and I'm brushing my teeth. And we're in the loo. This is just surreal—and not in an entirely good way… _

"Why don't you just use a charm to clean your teeth?" he asked. Clearly his curiosity was winning over his desire to belittle her.

"I used to use a charm… but I guess I started doing it the muggle way again over the summer… it's sort of therapeutic and with my paren—" she stopped, a stricked look on her face. She hadn't realized how much she'd wanted human contact; it was too easy to keep talking once someone got her going. _I was just going to ignore him 'til he left! _She scolded herself. _And now he'll think he can get information out of me to use against me later by annoying me! I nearly started blabbing about my parents! Oh sweet Merlin help me! _Malfoy didn't seize onto the bate immediately. _Poor ickle Granger… _He thought. _It's kind of sad… Clearly she's having issues… I really couldn't care less though; it'll make her easier to get to…_Realizing he'd almost missed an opportunity to make a derisive joke, he picked up where he left off.

"I really couldn't care less about your mental instabilities, Granger…." He began, his tone once again irritatingly superior. "Just keep that muddy muggle slime away from me!" he concluded, doubtless referring to her toothpaste. Hermione gurgled indignantly, but her mouth was full of toothpaste, so what was most likely a vicious, witty comment was lost in a mouthful of foamy liquid. Malfoy just chuckled unkindly, and smirked as he left the bathroom.

"Hurry up, Granger. Some of us actually sleep instead of spending all of our nights buried in books…" Hermione grunted angrily at his comment, spitting perhaps over-zealously into the sink, so that some toothpaste splattered onto the mirror. She didn't bother to clean it up.

A/N: So, another chapter! I want to just note that this will not be a typical marriage law/head boy and girl fic—I mean, maybe in some ways, but it will be very long, and I plan on having some amazing twists in there, that I hope you'll all like, as well as some incredibly plot elements that will deviate majorly from 'the norm'…I feel bad that this one took more than a day to post, but I guess a day still isn't that long—and this one's longer… I didn't quite get to where I wanted to be in this one, but I'll pick up at the really exciting scene (find out the couplings!!) next time! Please leave a constructive review, or just simple encouragement. Let me know your thoughts!!! =]]


	5. Chapter V: Beyond Breakfast

**Out of Chaos**

Disclaimer: I own absolutely NOTHING in the Harry Potter world. It all belongs to the lucky and imaginative JK Rowling: Kudos to her. Please don't sue me

A/N: Firstly, I apologize for taking so long to update. I have family visiting (they're moving out of the country for three years, so it's a kind of jam-in-as-much-family-time-as-possible situation), but I've been stealing minutes here and there to type a few lines… anyway, I know where I need to go with this fic—I promise it will become much more than an at-school marriage law fic, but it's going to take a long time to develop… Well, since I still haven't figured out how to review reply via email, I've decided to respond briefly to my (woefully) small collection of reviews here- I'm sorry I didn't get to it sooner. cataloo456- thanks! Here's some more…

Krissie92- haha… and thanks for reviewing twice!!

OBLuvr13- I'm trying to keep this away from the typical dramione marriage law… part of me just wants to go down the typical route, but I've got some, um, unusual, things planned… and yes, I know I have a tendency to ramble on in paragraph/thought form (my reviews are the same way…haha), but I am trying to incorporate more dialogue—this chapter isn't much better on that, but I'm working on six already and hopefully it'll be better… thanks for a meaningful, constructive review!

Enilas- I tried to hint that it'd be a marriage law in the description, but I guess that didn't work out so well… but thanks for still giving me a shot!! I promis it'll be worth it! (and thanks for two reviews!)

Supercanuk- I'm glad you like it so far

Anaa-pixie- I hope you continue to enjoy it!

**Chapter V: Beyond Breakfast...**

Draco:

Awareness creeps slowly back into my sleepy limbs as I awoke. Slowly, bits and pieces of my reality rush back to me, unwanted memories that I cannot cast away. This summer everything seemed so miserable, and yet it was all so predictable; and now, back at Hogwarts, where I expected everything to be the same as always, I'm instead faced with a new, unpredictable reality. I can hear Granger in the bathroom. The shower's running, and I consider going in there and beginning my morning routine, just to annoy her. But judging by her reaction last night, she'll pull out another wildcard and somehow take the fun out of teasing…

Instead I opt to simply get dressed, dragging a brush through my scrubby hair, knowing that I look considerably more bedraggled than normal. Honestly, right now I don't have time to care. I'm disgusted with myself when I realize I actually have butterflies in my stomach—barely perceptible, but the nervousness is there, flitting around and making my fingers twitch with apprehension. Because today I'll find out my sentence. I don't care what girl I've been paired with, I don't care how 'compatible' we are, it's still a sentence. Marrying anyone who I haven't chosen of my own free will is no better than marrying Moaning Myrtle. Or the Bloody Baron. My life has always been a struggle between desires and duty, freedom and obligations. And it seems to me, after finally having gathered the strength to deny my parents' wishes for my future, I've run into an insurmountable stumbling block in my quest for control over my own existence.

Needing something to distract me before I go down to breakfast, I consider sneaking into Granger's room and attempting to locate that book we fought over in Flourish and Blots. But once again, I just don't have the zeal for a confrontation this morning. So instead I settle moodily into my chair, contemplating impending doom with a scowl etched firmly across my heart.

Hermione:

I need an escape. It's my first thought of the morning. I don't mean an escape in the suicidal sense—don't get me wrong, I'm actually mentally fairly stable, despite Malfoy's thoughts to the contrary—no, I need to find a way out of this…this death sentence. I mean, for centuries wizards have resourcefully found their ways around undesirable laws; look at Mr. Weasley, head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Department, finding loopholes that allowed him to betwitch cars! I've no doubt that the marriage law is extremely complex and convoluted; it would have to involve many ridiculous legislative steps in order to be accepted, and it isn't the nature of the Wizengamot to pass laws as serious as this that aren't extremely long-winded… they seem to have some sort of bizarre misconception that long laws are always the best ones. And, I am completely convinced that they're all bonkers. I could spend all day innumerating the nonsensical qualities of the marriage law; but instead I get into the shower, relishing the feeling of the hot water on my skin.

My enjoyment of my shower is considerably dimmed when I hear Malfoy moving around next door. It's only then that I realize that he could enter the bathroom at any moment. I hurry to finish my shower, and upon arriving in my room hurry to get dressed. There's no delaying the inevitable. That letter is coming today, whether I like it or not.

***

Upon arriving in the great hall, Hermione was surprised to see Percy Weasley once again seated at the staff table. He looked as if he hadn't slept in days, a stark contrast to his ill-concealed delight of the previous night. Hermione frowned in his general direction. At the staff table, Flitwick was talking in hushed tones to Professor Sinistra.

"Why's he here again?" asked the astronomy teacher, dislike apparent in her tone. "Hasn't he caused enough uproar already? They'll hardly be able to study with this ridiculous law on their minds! I'm lucky enough to be already married, but some of the staff will even be affected by this law!" Flitwick nodded thoughtfully.

"I hear they released an early edition of the profit last night, since they knew the students would owl home their families… apparently it had quite a reaction… maybe it's something to do with that…" the tiny man trailed off as Percy leaned over towards McGonagall, clearly indicating his wish to speak to the whole school. McGonagall nodded curtly, and Percy stood.

"Your attention, please!" shouted McGonagall, above the bleary morning racket of the students. "We once again are honored by the prescence of Ministry representative Peter Weasley, who would like to say a few words to you as you break your fast. Please be attentive to our guest." Percy nodded pompously in thanks to her introduction before clearing his throat in a decidedly Umbridge-like manner.

"I will be much briefer than I was last night," he began (several boos and sniggers echoed throughout the hall). "I would like to begin by stating how sad it is that we live in a society that does not put full faith in it's government's decisions, which are, doubtless, for the best of society as a whole." (here Harry made a coughing noise that sounded decidedly like "Umbridge"). "However, the Ministry is a moderate and productive group; our aims are not for merely the present, but for the future, as well. It saddens me that the wizarding population in general was unable to see the long-term benefits of the marriage law that was announced last night, in an early-release edition of today's _Daily Prophet_. Because of the staggering reaction and objections of the public, specifically to young witches and wizards still in school who will be subject to this law, The Ministry has worked effortlessly as a whole to come to a decision that would better please the general public. Because of these objections, the Ministry has elected to amend the marriage law, so that any witch or wizard still in school, or under the age of twenty, will not be required to marry their partner until after graduation. While there will be requirements for time spent together in order that the partners will be able to familiarize themselves with one another, upon graduation the pair may submit to the Ministry a list of 37 or more reasons why they are incompatible with one another. If these reasons are accepted as logical, the Ministry may grant a three-month grace period, in which each member of the pair must find another partner. Please do your best to appreciate your partner—it's not every day your potential soul mate is found for you. Your pairing letters will still arrive as planned, but as I have explained, the stipulations have changed. Thank you."

Percy hurried out of the hall, his face an awkward puce color and his head bent down. Clearly he no longer cared what the students' reactions to the announcement were. There was a collective gasp from the seventh years, particularly, as a lone official-looking owl flew in, bearing a parchment sealed with the Ministry of Magic insignia. It flew directly towards the Gryffindor table, and landed in front of Neville Longbottom, who was sitting next to Ron.

"Whew! Thought it was for me…" exclaimed Ron, clearly forgetting that he'd be getting a similar missive in mere moments. On Ron's other side Hermione frowned.

"Way to be tactful Ron! You know perfectly well you'll be getting one, too… and it's alright, Neville, go on and open it…" Hermione encouraged Neville, still scowling in Ron's general direction. _Honestly, how horrible must it be for Neville to be singled out as the first to get his letter? Ron should at least be supportive…_

Neville gulped audibly, his face turning a slightly grotesque shade of green. He shook his head slowly, as if trying to rationalize the reality before him. Finally, he began to open the letter. The whole hall was watching him with bated breath. His eyes quickly skimmed over what was doubtless a lot of ceremonial drivel, finally reaching the bottom of the letter. His face relaxed, and a small smile spread across it.

"Who is it, Neville?" asked Seamus, clearly tired of waiting. Neville seemed to be rereading the letter one more time, just to be sure before he replied.

" It's okay!" he exclaimed, a smile now firmly in place. "I got Hannah Abbot… I reckon we'll get on alright…" Collective congratulations issued from the Gryffindor table, as everyone relaxed slightly. Hermione's frown also eased. _Neville and Hannah—truly a smart match… they really are compatible… maybe we'll all be that lucky… _

Soon many identical owls bearing Ministry sealed parchments began pouring into the hall, lighting at each table in front of seventh years. Harry was the next Gryffindor to receive his. Hermione noted a slight tremor in his fingers as he ripped open the crest, quickly scanning the letter as Neville had done, his eyes resting on the final line of the letter. His face turned an unpleasant shade of red, and he let out a strangled cry of disgust. Neville looked up from his third reading of the letter, his jubilant expression slowly leaving his face.

"Who is it, Harry?" He asked, clearly afraid of the answer. Harry shook his head once, in clear denial and handed the letter to Hermione, burying his head in his hands. Looking down Hermione read the ending of the letter.

…_we are pleased to inform you that you have been found compatible with Marietta Edgecombe, aged 18, and Hogwarts graduate. Arrangements will be made so that you can meet with Ms. Edgecombe every weekend. _

"Oh, Harry…" Hermione really didn't know what to say. _Who in their right minds would pair Harry with Marietta? _Hermione wondered. _They have absolutely NOTHING in common. Not Quidditch, not any other interests, not any similar values—I mean look at Marietta betraying the D.A. in fifth year! Harry would never do that! _"Well, Harry, you could always petition for Ginny—they said you could ask for witches a year below you, if you'd been dating them!" Harry looked slightly relieved.

"Yeah. Yeah. I could, couldn't I… thanks, Hermione… I completely forgot about that!" He shot Hermione a cheeky grin and looked across the table at Ginny. "Hey, Ginny… will you marry me?" Ginny looked slightly stunned, as did the rest of the table. Then an expression of comprehension slowly took over her features.

"Of course, Harry… if you're sure you'd rather have me than whoever you got!" Ginny laughed in relief.

"Yeah. Definitely. I got Marietta Edgecombe, who graduated last year. Yuck." There were cries of dismay from others at the Gryffindor table, particularly those who had been members of the D.A.

The discussion was interrupted by the arrival of more owls. Seamus got Cho Chang (he looked completely surprised, but not unhappy—like Marietta, Cho had graduated the year before), and Dean got Daphne Greengrass (he acted disgusted, but Hermione got the distinct impression that he secretly liked the idea of getting to know the pretty Slytherin witch). Cries of anger and relief came from the other tables, as owls continued to flood the great hall. Parvati and Lavender received their owls simultaneously; Parvati was joyful when she found out she'd gotten Terry Boot, but Lavender looked flabbergasted at her pairing with Fred Weasley (Hermione reflected that perhaps she'd been expecting to get a different Weasley boy).

By the time Ron's owl arrived, he looked about ready to regurgitate his breakfast into his empty goblet. He ripped open the letter in true Ronald Weasley fashion, knocking over a partially-full tray of breakfast rolls in his haste. Scanning the letter, he looked absolutely horrified upon reaching the end. His expression was far worse than Harry's, he looked at Harry and Hermione for one second, despair filling his eyes, before he sprinted desperately out of the great hall, holding the letter as far away from him as possible, as if it was a howler. Hermione was about to go after him, but she noticed a final lone pair of owls coming down. One went to the Slytherin table, and the other was headed fast in her direction.

Taking a calming breath, Hermione stroked the owl, extracting the parchment from between it's talons. She broke the seal, treasuring her final moments of blissful ignorance. There would be no turning back, after she found out her partner. Even if she decided to petition to find a new partner, she knew that she would have to spend months with her partner, finding strong reasons that they didn't belong together. Breaking the seal she began to read. Unlike her friends, she read the whole letter carefully. She knew it was just a form letter, sent to all seventh-years, variations of which had been sent to every witch and wizard affected by the marriage law, but she still was interested in reading it.

_Dear Ms. Hermione Granger—_

_As you are doubtless now aware, the Ministry of Magic has seen fit to take drastic measures to promote marriage in the wizarding community in light of a drastic drop in marriages, and a corresponding drop in reproduction. In addition, the Ministry feels that magic blood is weakening because of wizard and witches' tendencies to marry within their own social strata and blood status. _

_We also feel that the public at large would benefit from the happiness that would doubtless accompany many weddings. We hope that our match-making will essentially act as a catalyst for happiness in a time of war and unpleasantness. We must remember that even in times of strife it is not impossible to find brief, meaningful and fulfilling happiness._

_Now that our reasons for creating this law have been clarified, we wish to also expand upon the basic principles of the marriage law which you have already briefed on. Because you are still in school, you will not be required to marry until four months after graduation. In this way, we hope that you will not interrupt your studies with wedding preparations. However, feel free to marry before this deadline. As you know, a new clause has been added that allows for young witches and wizards, such as you, that have not had time to consider marriage before the law was passed to have a second choice. If you can find 37 concrete reasons that you and your partner are incompatible by July 31 of next year, the ministry will grant you three months, during which you must find a new partner. You will be required to produced a child within three years of the date of your union. Depending upon the success of the marriage law, this stipulation may be changed at a later date._

_Now the time has come to inform you of your partner. We truly hope that you will be happy with our choice, which we have made based on interviews with those close to you, surveys conducted by the Ministry, and your academic performance and values. We encourage you to truly give your partner a chance. Being open-minded can allow for many wonderful opportunities in life, and we feel confident that with the right amount of open-minded-ness, every single pairing we have made could, potentially, be a success. we are pleased to inform you that you have been found compatible with Draco Malfoy, aged 17, and a Hogwarts seventh year. You will be required to meet with Mr. Malfoy once weekly to get to know him better._

_Thank you for your cooperation. Please owl any questions to Sally Bagshot of the Department of Social Concerns._

_Sincerely,_

_The Ministry of Magic_

Somehow it didn't sink in the first time Hermione read the letter. It felt like she was drowning, drowning in her own future, which stretched out before her now like barren desert full of arguments and petty, miserable, malicious banter. Because she could hardly think of anyone worse to marry—well, maybe Crabbe or Goyle, but besides them, there was absolutely nobody at Hogwarts or in the greater world who she would be less happy marrying.

What did she do wrong? Which questions could she possibly have answered in a way that would even slightly imply that her personality would mesh well with Malfoy's? The mere sound of his name made her cringe—she wanted no part in his life. It was bad enough that they were forced to work together as Head Boy and Girl. But marriage? Or at least spending time with him? That was just too much.

***

The miraculous thing was that life did go on. While several hopes and dreams had been shattered—at least temporarily—the rest of Hogwarts kept of moving, locked into its eternal cycle of meals and classes, seemingly oblivious to the seventh years' plight. Hermione particularly noticed how nothing had really changed for anyone else—the first years still looked terrified of every suit of armor and ghost, the fifth years still looked harried by the O.W.L related announcements they'd been getting in each class, regarding the exams they'd take at the end of the year, and the teachers still taught their classes just as they had days before.

The difference was all in Hermione's mind. It seemed to her that there was a slight cloud over everything. The sun didn't shine quite as brightly, nor did the flowers bloom quite as energetically. At the end of the day, she headed back to her rooms—those too were afflicted with the dismal disease that now pervaded her life, since she shared them with Malfoy—and looked out the window at the beautiful autumn sky.

_I'm going to have to tell Harry and Ron soon... there's absolutely no way to keep it from them forever—and besides, it's not fair that they don't know—I know who they've gotten…_She continued to look at the window, wondering what evil ministry megalomaniac had masterminded her misery. _And I'm going to have to face Malfoy. At some point we've got to schedule all the Quidditch games, as well as organize a patrol schedule…_

She heard the Common Room portrait slam shut (abruptly stemming the flow of Deniphius' chatter), and knew Malfoy had arrived 'home'. _Let's go. _She told herself. _You can't shirk your duties because of personal problems. _

***

Malfoy:

I arrive back at the portrait around ten o'clock. That fool Deniphius gives me a load of rubbish before letting me in—seriously, he wants to chat about my day—doesn't he get that I'm not interested in having a heart-to-heart with a portrait?? I pull the portrait shut particularly forcefully behind me—again, probably unnecessary, but Deniphius deserves it—and I flop onto the couch.

Granger. Why Granger? What about her is so compatible with me? Why? I mean, she's busy-haired, buck-toothed, a busy-body, a know-it-all, and a Gryffindor (not to mention a muggleborn). I'm pretty much the opposite—I'm well-groomed, attractive, a Slytherin, and a pureblood, and while I may be smart, I'm not so flipping obvious about it… Maybe Granger isn't quite as hideous as she used to be, but she sure as heck isn't anything I'm interested in. And honestly, we've only had one civil conversation in our lives. That's right—one in our whole LIVES. So what part of this equation do they think will work so spectacularly. As far as I can see it, the only thing to do is to get to know Granger well enough that we can come up with 37 reasons we don't belong together. However, I'm a little resigned to the fact that we may have to marry; I've been expecting an arranged marriage my whole life, and this isn't a whole lot different.

Speaking of Granger, she's coming down the stairs now. She doesn't look happy either. In fact, her eyes look decidedly bloodshot, like she's been crying, though she's clearly done her best to disguise it… I really have absolutely no sympathy for that girl right now. I'm in exactly the same predicament, and you don't seem me all teary-eyed and miserable… but, to be fair, I've been expecting an arranged marriage my entire life—this really is no different, except for once I have a good excuse to defy my parents.

Granger's whole face trembles slightly as she looks at me; clearly I've turned from an irritating nuisance into a horrifying ogre since the last time we talked, since she can't even meet my eyes without cringing. Oh well… it's no loss to me, and she'll have to get used to me, at any rate.

"Malfoy, I just wanted, firstly, to say that I have every intention of spending this year doing my best to get to know you—so that by the time graduation rolls around, we'll have thirty-seven concrete reasons that we don't belong together," Her jaw is set in determination. I consider mentioning that I'm really quite open-minded, I mean, how could marrying her be any worse than marrying the cows my mother has been pushing me to marry since infancy? But seeing her angry expression I pause. Now isn't the time for technicalities. We'll just see how things play out. I'm about to agree with her, but she seems to have more to say. Well what do you know? She never runs out of things to say, even when she's moping. "I don't want this ridiculous marriage nonsense to get in the way of our prefect duties, so I brought down the lists of prefects and the blank schedules we'll need to fill in for patrols and Quidditch matches—I figured we should get a start on them…" Her face relaxes as she talks. Clearly she's just not comfortable with me on a personal level, and I don't really blame her—I'm a bit of a dream come true, aren't I (though maybe not for her)? I follow her lead, sitting down on the chintz armchair across from the sofa she has perched stiffly on, and looking at the blank schedules spread out before us.

"I think this year we should mix the patrols up…" I say, already picturing in my mind's eye the amusing situations that will doubtless arise. "We should definitely scramble the years, and we should also mix up houses…" At Granger's frown, I quickly add justification; "prefects spend far too much patrol time socializing—don't deny it, Granger, I know you've even been distracted once or twice by Weasel-bee…" Her frown deepens into an angry scowl, but I continue before she can interrupt. "More than that, I think McGonagall would like it; it'd set us off to a good start in her books; it's very much along the lines of all this ridiculous 'unity' crap they've been preaching…"

"Fine, Malfoy… sounds reasonable enough… But who do you propose to pair up?" Glad that she's at least considering my idea, we begin discussing potential patrol partners. I'm actually surprised to find that we tend to think along the same lines—at least she's on the same page as me in terms of what sort of partners we're looking for. They need to not be too familiar with one another, but not be some volatile combination that will cause more trouble than unity…

"You know, Malfoy, I just realized that this is like…" Granger begins after maybe half an hour of planning. "Nevermind…" She trails off, clearly thinking better of her idea.

"What, Granger? You might as well tell me now that you've pulled the rabbit halfway out of the hat anyway…" She frowns at my odd analogy, but continues grudgingly.

"Well, I just realized that this is probably very much like what the ministry did to us—picked apart our personalities and preferences and paired us up detachedly, relying purely on strategy and hypothetical situations, not reality… it's just ridiculous! I mean, us dictating prefect schedules is one thing—but it's like the Ministry's trying to play God, like we're little guinea pigs, puppets—toys really—to be experimented on at their leisure— "I hold up my hand, silencing what has quickly turned into a heated rant. She frowns, probably thinking I'm going to start contradicting her.

"You're absolutely right, Granger. You'd better not repeat this to anyone, but that was actually a very observation… but since there's not much we can do, just relax. Your rants are doing nothing but seriously damaging my eardrums…" I flash a trademark smirk her way, not wanting to give the impression I've gone completely soft. "If you're done displaying your mental instabilities, can we get on to scheduling Quidditch games?"

A/N: Please review and tell me what you think! Just hit that little button, and voila! I'll update even faster!!! =]


	6. Chapter VI: Confunding Confessions

**Out of Chaos**

Disclaimer: I own absolutely NOTHING in the Harry Potter world. It all belongs to the lucky and imaginative JK Rowling: Kudos to her. Please don't sue me

I KNOW that it's been a long long time. I know that it's hard to get back into a story after it's been on hiatus for as long as this one has… in fact, I had this chapter almost entirely written at the end of Summer 2009 when I stopped updating. I recently logged into my fanfiction account for the first time in more than 6 months and decided that it was time for me to update again. I put the finishing touches on this chapter, and I hope you enjoy! Once again, I'm so incredibly sorry about the delay.

**Chapter VI: Confunding Confessions**

As predicted by the celebrated seer Sibyl Trelawney (or so said a sarcastic fourth-year), the weekend _did_ come. Eventually. The weather was positively splendid. Realistically, it was highly unusual for such sunny, summery weather to persist so consistently into autumn—particularly in the hills of Scotland. However, both Hermione and Draco were rather preoccupied with matters more pressing than the weather.

Hermione spend the remainder of her week dodging questions from Harry, Ron and Hogwarts in general about her assigned 'fiancé'. She knew realistically that delaying the inevitable conversation about who she'd been assigned would just make matters worse—the boys would be hurt that she'd kept such crucial information from them—but somehow she felt that speaking only of the weather, Quidditch and other such mundane and safe topics was far easier than breaking to the boys that she was destined to spend at least a good portion of the coming year with Malfoy. She knew Malfoy hadn't told anybody either—otherwise Harry and Ron would've heard from the school gossips long ago. However, Hermione was a logical girl, and she knew her time was fast running out. She'd have to 'fess up to Harry and Ron at some point. Better to do it on a weekend, when there was at least less tension in the air, than during the mid-week crunch of schoolwork. Worst case scenario, they'd take the news horribly and somehow blame her for the whole debacle, and then she'd be stuck with emotional turmoil during crucial study periods… no, much better to confront them on a weekend—and she couldn't possibly wait another whole week to tell them.

So Hermione woke Saturday morning with a goal firmly etched in her mind; by the end of the day, she'd vowed to tell Harry and Ron who she'd been paired with. During one of her many mental debates over the best way to present the information, she considered simply leaving the letter out for them to find… doubtless their curiosity would outweigh their integrity and respect for Hermione's privacy—after all, they were insensitive teenage boys…

Then there was the 'proclaim-your-future-to-the-whole-great-hall' approach—while this really wasn't Hermione's usual style, she figured as Head girl she'd be able to command attention fairly easily. And besides, if everyone heard the news from her first, she'd head off all the bold, curious gossipers who were bound to seek her out to verify the information if they heard it from anyone's lips but her own. But most likely Harry and Ron would feel dreadfully hurt (or at least some part of their emotionally stunted souls were bound to feel the twinge of her negligence) at hearing the news along with everyone else instead of being given VIP one-on-one (or two-on-one) treatment. Besides, Hermione wasn't completely deluded about her own importance. While the school gossips were dying to know who she'd been paired with, and many others were curious simply because of her famed status as Harry Potter's best friend, she knew what was life-shattering news to her really was relatively unimportant to the school as a whole and didn't really merit a public announcement.

Finally, Hermione settled for the most straightforward approach—talk to Harry and Ron in private about the likely reality of a future between her and Malfoy. What really worried her was Ron's reaction—he'd reacted badly enough to his own engagement to Pansy, but she knew he still felt possessive of her, and was bound to dislike the thought of her with another guy. Beyond that, they'd always viewed Pansy as an irritating, stupid, foul girl, but she was truly a follower. She was never the initiator of any Slytherin nastiness, though she often participated in it. She wasn't the brains behind the operations. Malfoy, on the other hand, not only shared her snotty elitist attitude, but also was the scheming genius, turning the cogs of troublesome Slytherin plots. In Ron's eyes, at least, he was the seed of evil that polluted the rest of the Slytherins. Therefore, engagement to him would be at least ten times worse to engagement to another Slytherin, from Ron's perspective.

Hermione pulled on her uniform, slipped on her shoes, brushed her hair, and washed her face, barely putting any real attention into her actions. Malfoy was either still asleep or already out of the common room, and she flew down to the Great Hall for breakfast, glad of having avoided an encounter. Their profession Head Boy/Head Girl relationship had remained in tact and productive since their late-night, semi-friendly scheduling session, but Hermione still felt that their personal relationship was dreadfully rocky—at best. He still shot cruel jabs at her, and in general made her life miserable whenever possible when they weren't discussing Heads' business. And Hermione returned the favor in good style.

Ron and Harry were sitting conveniently alone at the Gryffindor table. Harry sat immersed in _The Daily Prophet_, picking at a plate of ketchup-covered sausages, contrasting with Ron whose attention was solely directed at what was probably his third or forth plate of eggs and toast.

"Hello, Boys!" Hermione exclaimed with false bravado, serving herself a bowlful of porridge with cream. "Glad to see you two haven't overslept again… lovely day, isn't it…" Harry folded his newspaper at her words.

"Hey, 'Mione… Have you read the paper, lately?" He asked. "Specifically today's edition…"

"Nope, I've barely been awake twenty minutes," Hermione yawned to illustrate her point. "Anything of interest?"

"Well, I'd say so…" Harry unfolded the paper again and began reading. "Here's the Headline: 'Beloved Correspondent Overreacts to Unexpected Pairing'…essentially it tells how the 'public's favorite informant and well-respected special correspondent Rita Skeeter' has 'cracked under the pressure of her prospective marriage'… apparently she went completely nuts when she learned that she'd been engaged to Mundungus Fletcher—she threw a hissy fit and tried to kill the idiot with some sort of badly brewed Draught of Living Death…" Harry's face was hard.

"Well…" Ron began, spraying eggs across _The Prophet_'s front page, "Oo gotta fee sowwy foo da poo' bwoke, hawwy…" Ron's speech was completely impeded by his mouthful of food, but somehow both Harry and Hermione both understood him.

"Feel sorry for the bloke? Ron, he was _nicking_ _Sirius' stuff_… and he's practically betrayed the order about half a dozen times… sorry, mate, but they deserve each other…" Harry had a disgusted look on his face as he spoke. Hermione backpedaled, attempting to head of a potential angry rant from Harry.

"Wait, Harry… you said she tried to kill him with a Drought of Living Death? How's that supposed to work?" Hermione's change of subject worked—Harry's eyes crinkled up around the corners with mirth as he responded.

"Hermione, ever the scholar, interested in the nitty-gritty logistics… let me find the passage in the report—mind you, this is the prophet, so you can't believe everything you read… ah, here it is: 'Mr. Telmann Grundigs, owner of a little-known apothecary in Hogsmeade reported that Ms. Skeeter entered his shop Thursday night to purchases the ingredients necessary for a Draught of Living Death. Mr. Grundigs testified that Skeeter seemed "distraught, and frazzled, not at all her usual likeable self"' that's rubbish… but anyways, the story continues: 'Chemical analysis of the potion given to Mr. Fletcher reveals that Ms. Skeeter incorrectly brewed the Draugh of Living Death, creating a highly toxic, lethal substance. Those close to Ms. Skeeter have speculated that she was attempting to brew a stronger version of the potion, intended to put Mr. Fletcher into a potentially permanent coma.'" Harry looked at Hermione and grinned.

"Hmm… sounds to she fiddled with the proportions of the valerian root to sopophorous bean in a desperate attempt to increase the potency—she clearly doesn't realize proportions are most important in potions, and that increasing potency is a tricky business… in fact, if the proportions were thrown off just the right amount, she would create something really volatile and nasty…" her mutterings stopped abruptly as she realized that Harry and Ron were both shooting her slightly exasperated, yet loving looks. "Sorry boys…" she realized she'd been stalling for time. It really would be easier if she just got to the point.

"So, 'Mione, what're your plans for the day?" Ron asked, this time careful to swallow his food first.

"Well… I figured I'd do some revising for Ancient Runes—they're some translation techniques I need to look over—and I need to talk to you boys…" There. It was out. She'd said it, and she wouldn't turn back. Where was Gryffindor courage when you needed it?

"Hmm?" Though Harry's response was nonchalant, his piercing green eyes immediately focused on her worried face. Hermione nodded. Now Ron was looking intently at her, too.

"I know I should've told you both earlier… about my _fiancé_, I mean…" she spat out the offending word, clearing her throat before continuing. "But I realize that you two have a right to know who The Ministry has forced me together with…" Ron and Harry both nodded vigorously, not wanting to break the flow of her thoughts. "So, I might as well tell you… It's Draco Malfoy."

Hermione didn't want to see the boys' reactions. She had built the whole thing up so much in her head that ultimately she couldn't stand the thought of them actually _knowing_… So, in a most cowardly and un-Gryffindor-like fashion, she turned and ran out of the Great Hall, leaving a bowl of half-eaten porridge and two stunned boys behind.

Saturday morning Draco Malfoy woke with a very different agenda from Hermione Granger. Yes, he still was pissed about the whole Marriage Law situation. But honestly, at some point he had started to look at spending time with Granger as inevitable, and decidedjust get on with his life… he'd known all along that chances were he wouldn't be able to dictate who he married, so this was a step up from his parents deciding for him…

But it still sucked.

However, today Draco was on a mission. He _needed_ that book. The one Granger had. He'd been so close to discovering whatever it was the Uncle Severus had wanted him to discover—clearly there was something that he needed to understand about magical theory, but that Severus couldn't tell him…and he was sick of Granger hogging the book. Yes, it was hers, and yes, she had said she'd share it with him; so why hadn't she done so yet? He supposed in all fairness she'd been very busy what with hiding like a coward from her friends and dealing with the emotional trauma of their engagement—but seriously, Granger always had time for books, and he was willing to bet his broomstick that she'd been reading the book herself. Therefore, he definitely deserved to get his turn skimming through it.

Like Hermione, Draco considered multiple attack plans for the day; he could simply break into Hermione's room and steal the book; he could ask her to share it; he could force her to share it; he could act like the perfect gentleman and maybe she'd offer to share it of her own volition…

In the end he decided just to mention the book in a casual conversation (not that they had a lot of those, though…) and hope she'd remember her promise.

As it was, his plan turned out to go down the tubes pretty much from the moment Granger entered the common room after breakfast. She looked terribly flustered and upset, her hair falling out of it's casual braid and frizzing around her head like firecrackers, her eyes wide and filled an ill-concealed emotion, that he thought was rather akin to terror…

Draco sighed. Hermione sat down, staring in front of her, completely ignoring him. Draco cleared his throat loudly. He didn't really like being ignored like this… not when Granger was so clearly out of it. In fact, her whole attitude was terribly unnerving…

"Hey, Granger, good to see you up and at 'em this morning, bright and early," he knew the cheer in his tone was transparently false, and probably very disconcerting, but he didn't want to start the conversation out on a bad note. "I was thinking we should start planning the Halloween Feast today… it's a ways off, but we don't want it sneak up on us…" Hermione looked at him, a strange, feverish light in her eyes.

"Yeah. Yes. Definitely…" clearly she was scrabbling for something to say that made sense. "Excellent idea, Malfoy. Excellent… I'll just go get my notes from previous years' Heads…"

"Well, actually, Granger, I was thinking we should just work from scratch on this one…" he gestured awkwardly at the squishy armchair across from the sofa he was perched on. Hermione sat heavily. Draco realized, with surprise, how much harder it was to be civil than it was to be rude. "I think the prefects have reacted reasonably to mixing up the patrols, thus far… I was thinking maybe we could try doing something similar for the Halloween Ball… either totally random, or seating students at tables by year, or even by their individual interests…" Draco honestly hadn't been planning on any such thing, but clearly Granger was going through some trauma right now… and seriously, if she'd gone up to her room to 'get her notes', she probably would've just stayed up there moping and not come down again, effectively eliminating his chances of snatching the book…

Luckily his proposal seemed to have piqued Hermione's interest (though perhaps it was simply the sheer unusualness of the situation and of Draco's civility).

"Hmmm. Exactly what do you have in mind?" Hermione looked shrewdly at him, clearly wanting specifics.

"Welllll…" Draco began, desperately trying to buy himself time to think. "Like I said it was just a thought… you're the one with spectacular brains here, Granger… I just thought I'd run the idea by you…" Draco went on the offensive. Clearly there was a point when he had to stir Hermione up a bit to get her to work with him. Luckily, his slight jab coupled with a generally considerate attitude seemed to do the trick.

"I think we should do the seating by year…" Hermione began, latching on to one of Draco's haphazard suggestions. "I always thought it was a shame that, while students are close to others in their year within their own houses, the students' loyalty is generally to their house, not their whole year and the whole of Hogwarts. I think a good place to start targeting this house-based division would be within the years… we'd have smaller tables, so it'd be easier to talk with a larger variety of people…" Malfoy realized this was a good time to just let Hermione ramble. She was clearly in her element. "It's always seemed like such a shame to me that there isn't a real sense of class bonding here at Hogwarts. In the muggle world, years are generally very close to one another, since they graduate together. I don't want to create a new kind of division—between years—but I think a good way to start unifying the Houses would be to first unify each year regardless of house boundaries, and then tackle them all… My parents always said—" Hermione stopped abruptly, doubtless realizing who she was talking to. Malfoy was puzzled. There was the whole 'parents issue' again… she just didn't like to talk about them, did she?

"Well, I should've known you'd have an opinion right away, Granger…" Malfoy sneered, returning at least somewhat to his normal persona. All this niceness was starting to grate on his nerves—and he didn't want to freak Granger out too much with his sudden change in attitude. "Anyway, I'd rather not discuss this right now. I have some books I'd like to find in the library…" Draco glanced subtly over at Hermione. She was bound to be curious, after all—research was pretty much her life, and she'd want to know what someone else was researching. As he'd predicted, her face showed mixed anger at his sudden change of mood, as well as overwhelming curiosity as to what was so important to do on a Saturday morning. Draco didn't want to push her too far, but he decided to continue with his attack plan. "Of course, I wouldn't have to go to the library if it weren't for you, Granger…" Hermione's face immediately snapped into what Draco had come to call 'verbal sparring mode'. Her eyes narrowed, her jaw clenched and her whole body took on a barely perceptible fighting stance.

"What do you mean, Malfoy?" she hissed at him. "One second we're all buddy-buddy, and you're chatting about inter-House unity plans, and the next second you're blaming your inability to locate books on me! You're mood swings are becoming practically feminine here, Malfoy!" Ordinarily, Draco would have been incensed at Hermione's words. As it was, he wasn't too pleased at being called feminine—but he kept his goal in sight, pushing the bubbling anger inside him down below the surface, and sticking to his manipulative plan to get _the book_…

"I'm not having mood swings, Granger," Malfoy began, in a calculatedly irritated voice. He hoped that by defending himself he would give her the feeling that she'd won the brief argument, which would hopefully leave her more open-minded and accessible in general. "It's just that I remembered a project I've been working on, and I realized now would be an ideal time to work on it. Yes, Granger, I know it comes as a surprise, but I do forget things, once in a blue moon… and it so happens that I'd forgotten this particular obligation. As to what you call 'false accusations', I have to say that you're simply wrong. You took the very book from Flourish and Blotts that I now am trying to replace…" As he spoke, Granger's eyes suddenly filled with understanding.

"You manipulative bastard! This whole conversation was a set-up to get the book from me, wasn't it?" Draco cringed at Granger's accusation. How did she call him on it? How could she tell?

"How astute of you, Granger. To be completely honest, I am attempting to pry the book from your miserly clutches…" Draco smirked at Hermione's outraged expression. "After all, you did promise me you'd share it—but, I do know we need to start considering the Halloween Ball, and I am really trying to be open minded about all your ridiculous unity-related plans…" Draco watched Hermione's face—a myriad of emotions once again played across it. She was clearly angry that he'd essentially buttered her up to get something from her. However, she also seemed pleased, most probably by the ideas that said buttering-up had yielded. She also seemed confused by his determination to get the book, but also respectful of his scholarly pursuits. Finally she spoke.

"I'll bring the book down, Malfoy," She finally stated. Malfoy's heart soared—maybe he'd finally get his hands on the damn unattainable hunk of paper! But then she continued; "But I was planning on reading it today, too… so I guess we'll have to share. If you're not so chicken that you're terrified of my muggle germs…" Malfoy frowned. He didn't like the idea of sharing the book with Granger, and, truthfully, he found the prospect of being close to her for an extended period of time slightly scary. He would never admit this to anyone, but Granger honestly scared him at times… she was just so… intense…

"Deal, Granger… go get the twice-accursed tome, so we _will_ have all day…" Hermione hurried up the stairs, wondering why in the name of Merlin's fuzzy long underwear she'd just agreed to share a book with Malfoy.

Not three minutes later, Hermione came hurrying down the stairs clutching _Magical Theory: The Soul of Darkness_ to her chest. She really was doing this against her better judgment. Firstly, Malfoy could possibly use some of the information in the book for evil, twisted, Death Eater purposes. However, clearly he'd done something to redeem himself and prove himself trustworthy, since he as back at school after last years' fiasco… so probably the book wouldn't be used as fuel for an evil megalomaniac's schemes… Secondly, however, Hermione's spirit of discovery strongly disliked collaborating, unless it was with someone she trusted completely. Obviously she didn't trust Malfoy, so it was hard for her to share something that could be so essential to her research with him.

"I'm on chapter five right now—I've been reading through each chapter and cross-referencing my notes and other sources… I mean, I've done a bit of skipping around, but the writing's pretty dense…" Hermione said, looking nervously over at Malfoy.

"That's fine, Granger… it's not like it's a story book, I'm sure my brain will be able to comprehend the concepts wherever we start…"

And so, after much awkard shuffling around, Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger, mortal enemies and Hogwarts Heads ended up sitting together, side-by-side, fully immersed in chapter five of _Magical Theory: The Soul of Darkness._

The hours ticked by quickly. Luckily, the two Heads read at about the same pace, so it was easy for them to read together. The writing was complex enough, that if one finished a page before the other, there was always a passage or two that the quicker reader could go back and re-analyze.

Of course, awkwardness abounded. Page turning was a real issue: for the first twenty minutes or so, Draco, who was sitting on the left, would reach across and try to turn the page, and Hermione would swat his hand away (her detailed note-taking slowed her down considerably, causing Draco to almost always finish first). The unnecessary contact caused collective cringes from both parties. However, they soon fell into a rhythm of reading and page-turning, and practically forgot about one another.

Well into the third hour Draco felt his stomach grumble. Hermione heard it, too, but she stayed silent. He was a big boy and could deal with his own hunger.

By the end of the fourth hour, Hermione needed to bounce her ideas off something. Or someone.

"Draco?" she began tentatively, knowing the interruption was probably acceptable. _If my well-conditioned eyes are blurring, then his are probably positively useless by now_, she thought with a smile.

"Huh?"

"Do you mind if ask you a question about this chapter?" He looked at her and smirked.

"Does the Gryffindor Princess, bookworm extraordinaire, Queen of All Knowledge, need help from a Slytherin?" His smirk grew as he spoke.

"Fine then!" Hermione was disgruntled. She didn't know why she'd expected him to react even slightly civilly. "I'll just take this book with me up to my room so I can puzzle it out on my own! You've had more than enough time with it for today!"

"Gods, Granger, chill out!" Malfoy was a little irked at her defensiveness. "Can't you take a tease? And I probably know a heck of a lot more about the subject than any goody-two-shoes Gryffindor would know…" He trailed off, knowing his statement would entice her. _Look at that. Perfect, _he thought as he watched her expression slowly change from anger, to annoyance, to curiosity.

"Alright. But mind your manners, Malfoy!" Draco smirked at her command. _She should be a fly on the wall at one of mother's High Teas. Talk about manners!_

"Soooo… what's this puzzle that's got your noggin in a quandary?" Draco's tone was intentionally light. Hermione frowned and flipped through her notes.

"Here we go," Draco peered over her shoulder. All he could see was a piece of parchment filled with nearly-unintelligible, cramped handwriting. Miniscule numbers lined the margins.

"What're the numbers for?" Hermione shot him a withering glare.

"Organization, Malfoy! What else? Do you seriously think I can tell one piece of parchment—one chunk of information—from another at a glance? No! Of course not! Like all good scholars, I used numbers—and color coding—to organize and classify my research!" Malfoy rolled his eyes. _A little humility might help me out here_, he realized.

"Okay, okay, Granger! Sorry! I just am obviously inferior to you in terms of academic research. Thanks for deigning to explain it to me, though…" Hermione frowned at him, and let his thanks go unanswered. _Maybe I laid it on a bit too thick…_Draco mentally kicked himself.

"Alright. So at the beginning of this last chapter—Chapter 6—Sallowfen talks about the heat conversion associated with ancient Dark rituals. I don't even get how it's relevant, and I don't understand how something as insubstantial as these rituals—which are essentially dealing with the human soul, which is utterly abstract—can create something as concrete as heat. It doesn't make sense. Because when, in terms of arithmancy, you divide up the physical and the magical, or soul-based, parts of magic, they're entirely separate… right?" Draco took a while in answering. He could see where she was getting confused.

"For the most part, yes, Granger. When you look at ancient Soul-Magic, the physical and spiritual are almost entirely separate. However, you have to realize that even the people who perform these rituals—the ancient dark wizards or whathaveyou—they don't even fully understand it. So there's a lot of variation in theories about Dark magic. So some theorists have come to believe that there's a grey area, where the physical and magical overlap—not covered even in NEWT level arithmancy—that would completely alter the equations of magic. However, it doesn't apply to even most advanced-level magic, so it's rarely studied…"

"So you're saying that this could be completely wrong?" Hermione frowned at Draco. She didn't like to think that books could be THAT off-the-mark.

"No… I would guess that if Mr. Sallowfen says there's a heat transfer during the Dark Rituals, I'd say he's right. There's probably some documentation in some of his sources, or he's experimented himself… but the link between the physical and spiritual here is still entirely unclear…"

"Okay. Thanks, Malfoy…" Hermione trailed off, already eager to continue delving into Chapter Six of _Magical Theory: The Soul of Darkness_.

By Dinnertime, both Draco and Hermione were utterly exhausted and completely starved. They resumed sniping at each other as they proceeded down to the great hall to eat. All was back to normal between them, it seemed. They parted ways as they neared the Great Hall, and dread grew in the pit of Hermione's stomach. She hadn't stuck around to see how the boys had reacted to her news. _Maybe running wasn't quite the right reaction… _she realized as the delicious smells of dinner reached her nose.

A/N: OKAY. Well, I feel like I got a bit sloppy at the end of the chapter, but oh well. I just really had to get the ideas out, and it was hard to write something that I thought would merge seamlessly with what I'd written so long ago… a lot has changed in a year, so it's hard to go back and put myself in the same place I was last summer, so I can continue the story without any big changes. Please read and review! Let me know what you think of all the magical theory stuff… I know it's a bit random and confusing, but it's going to be important so any feedback I can get will be helpful, before I make any more major decisions about that part of the story!


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